Which is it? A memory or us? | Matt Murdock x Reader
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Summary: You wake up with loud noises in the middle of the night, Matt must be home. But instead of your normal routine of checking for injuries and cuddling him to sleep you find yourself jumping out of bed as he drops an injured Elektra on his sheets.
Tags: gn!reader, angst, hurt no comfort, no happy ending, emotional cheating (?) in a way, Reader has every right to be upset, idk it’s just a lot of angst sorry about that :P
Tw: Lots of bl0od, beggining of a p4nic att4ck, pre-f4inting symptoms, Matt being quite the asshole to you but hey what’s new?
Disclaimer: Baby’s first fic omg what! Shoutout to @peterftpercy for encouraging me to write this <3, english is not my first language so be mindful of that. Also I did not beta read this, as I always wanted to say: no beta we die like Foggy! (sorry)
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You stir awake from your sleep, getting your conciousness back after hearing a loud crash on the living room. You assumed Matt just got home. Rubbing your eyes to make the sleep go away you sit on the bed, just when you were about to get up from the bed to check if Matt was injured and needed your help with bandaging the door swung open with a strenght that made you flinch. Your eyes widened as the last drops of sleep left your body and mind. You try to analyze the situation in front of you but you’re so confused, Matt is here but he’s carrying a woman in his arms and she’s bleeding. God the blood is everywhere, almost like a horror movie scene. Her body was dripping down with blood, deep gashes and wounds scattered across her body, your heart dropped at the scene right in front of you and you felt like you would throw up.
Matt didn’t seem to notice you were home, probably thinking you were at your own apartment as he dropped the woman on his sheets, you jump out of the bed, partly because you were horrified and partly to make space for the bloodied body, corpse… You couldn’t tell. You take a better look on her face, you quickly recognize her as Elektra, Matt and Foggy told you about her activities, you didn’t know her appearence but you just had a gut feeling.
“Holy shit.” you let a scream-like whisper and that seems to get Matt to notice you. He snaps his head in your direction but doesn’t say anything, he turns his focus to her again in a second.
He is holding her hand, that makes you heart do that thing again, the thing when you got jealous. You swallowed it down though, there is someone actively bleeding to death in front of you. You try your best to get your shit together and half walk half run to the bathroom to get the emergency kit you kept. You heard Matt yelling with someone else, there’s someone else in the apartment? You come back to the room to notice another man, he’s old, white hair and everything. You don’t know who he is but you try your best to help.
You open up the emergency kit and put it on top of the night stand beside the bed, Matt leaves to do something the other man ordered him to do. You take a deep breath and grab some gauze and antiseptic to tend to her superficial cuts, you didn’t have to do this but you do because you didn’t want a dead body in Matt’s apartment while you were here. You try your best to ignore how Matt is acting, kissing her hand as the old man pours a strange kind of tea on her biggest wound, you overhead them and this liquid is supposed to neutralize the poison running through her veins right now. The liquid is scalding hot, burning her skin for what seems like a third degree burn. Matt kneels down and starts praying while holding her hand to his forehead, you try your best to ignore how desperate he was. You try your best to ignore everything your eyes can see, lying to yourself and gaslighting yourself into thinking Matt was just worried about a friend.
Bullshit. It was Bullshit.
Once you finally got a chance to breathe you left the room, the smell of blood and antiseptic and tea too strong for your nose. You lingered by the door for a few seconds, you wish you didn’t. You overheard Matt whispering sweet nothings to Elektra, soothing her. You were trying your best, you really fucking were. But God, how you wanted to disappear on the spot.
As you sat on the couch, finally catching a break of this whole mess Matthew brought with him. Your moment of peace didn’t last long though, your mind putting pieces together. Matt has been distant, going out to his night job more stressed and returning almost at sunrise. You knew who Elektra was, you knew she somehow came back to his life, it didn’t bother you until it did. You knew how she almost ruined Matt’s life once in college, trying to drag him to a path of darkness where he could never return until he stopped her himself. Ah, so that’s why he’s been distant.
That’s why you felt like he changed. Maybe you didn’t know him at all.
Your eyes start to water with tears of frustration, how did it come to this? You heard about her, you thought he was over her. When he mentioned her before you thought nothing of it. And now? Now Matt is pathetically begging God to keep her safe and that she wakes up. It wouldn’t be an issue if there wasn’t all the other signs in his body language. Kissing his ex’s hands in such an intimate way and calling her ‘sweetheart’ in front of his girlfriend? Wow.
Your anxiety starts to get the best of you, your head is pounding and so is your heart, fast and missing several beats. You try to find reasoning for his actions, maybe he was afraid of losing her but as a friend, nothing romantic. You can’t gaslight youself. You can feel your ears ringing and your vision starting to blur and turn black with tears and the result of your arrythmic heart. You can feel your blood preassure lowering even while remaining sat. You start to sob into your palm, trying to make yourself as small as possible, taking as little space and making as little noise as possible.
You can’t stop thinking about how he completely ignored you, not even explaining what the hell happened and how she end up so hurt anyways.
You can’t stop thinking about how he would probably trade you for her in a matter of seconds. Maybe he already did.
You can’t stop thinking. You can’t slow down your own heart nor your thoughts. You can’t stop-
“Sweetheart?” your spiraling is suddenly interrupted by Matt’s voice, the name now being directed at you or atleast you think- hope it is. You look up at him, he is bloodied and quite injuried himself too. He probably heard your crying and how arrythmic your heart rate was and decided to check up. You didn’t say anything.
How could you say anything? Your boyfriend was practically emotionally cheating on you and on top of that brought the woman herself bleeding to death to his bed, how could you even think about something to say?
You look away from him, you can’t bear the thought of facing him right now. You’re still sobbing and shaking and feeling dizzy with stress. He can feel it too, of course he can, considering the state you were in you can even say he took too long to come to you. He was probably too deep in his thoughts about Elektra to notice you. Your mind takes a turn and begins to spiral again after the thought crossed your mind, you sob even harder, burying your face to both of your palms now.
He walks closer to you, standing just before you as he kneels in front of the couch, just like he did inside the bedroom with her. This gutwrecking feeling is so strong you feel like you might throw up from sobbing too hard. He brings a hand to yours, trying to ease the grip of your knuckles and pull your hands away from your face but you just slap his hand away as hard as you could with the little strenght you had left.
He had the audacity to give you a confused look, like he didn’t know what he just did, or what he had been doing. It takes a lot not to scream in his face and tell him to fuck off. Your heart ached, your body trembled, your vision was blurry and your ears were ringing from stress, he can feel it but can’t understant.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he tries in a low voice, almost a whisper. You sob harder at his comment, what do you mean ‘what’s wrong’? Everything is. You can’t even think clearly anymore, your mind flooded and drowning in insecurity and somehow jealous of a woman who was dying on your’s (or Matt’s) sheets half an hour ago.
“What the fuck is wrong with you Matthew?” you mumble out in a shaky whisper, taking every last bit of self restraint not to yell at him. Your comment is passive agressive and you know it, he looks confused.
“That’s why you’ve been distant isn’t it? You lost important steps of the Frank Castle trial, you slipped through my fingers at night earlier and somehow got back a few moments before sunrise.” you let it out, voice still low but ocasionally choking on your own sobs. You avoid eye contact the best you can even though he can’t really keep eye contact with you.
“You’ve been emotionally and physically distand, and Elektra is the reason, isn’t it?” he froze at your accusation, you’ll take that as a yes. You can feel the air getting tense, you can feel your throat tightening further. You brace yourself for the answear.
“I’m doing this for the city, I- Elektra and I are on a mission together-” he tries to explain himself, you figured you don’t want to hear him speak about how everything he does is for the city and how it’s necessary. The same bullshit over and over again, you’re tired of the same speech.
Your head is still spiraling with the same horrible thoughts, you try to think about something else but you can’t. You reach to the conclusion that Matt still loves Elektra. He still loves her and he would drop you for her in a minute because he never really got over her. You take a deep breath, getting yourself ready for the question you wanted to ask but wasn’t sure if you wanted the answear.
“You told me she was part of your past, Matthew.” you straightened your posture, you look at him now, not wanting to miss his body language signs right now. “You told me she was a memory. So which is it? A memory or us?”
His jaw fell open, completely caught off guard with the question. His mouth opened and closed multiple times, thinking about what to say. That was enough for you.
You slowly got up from the couch, if he really can’t make that decision, then…
You grab your phone and your changer and put it into the small purse you took everywhere with you. Matt noticed your moves and quickly caught your wrist. “What are you doing?”
You free your wrist from his grasp and turn around to take a last look at him, your eyelids feeling heavy from how much you cried tonight.
“I can’t be here with you tonight, maybe not ever again.” your cold tone making him flinch, he tries to argue, to convince you to stay. He tries to beg even. You simply left his apartment. Leaving him alone in the darkess of his world.
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WOAAHH THAT WAS A LOT!! SORRY GUYS :3
First fic so I’m really self concious about my writings, if you could leave a comment I would love some feedback <3 thanks for reading cuties!!!
For nearly an entire month, Matt Murdock had been plagued by this agitated, thrumming energy coiling around him like a violin string prised and wound so tightly it could snap in two.
His mood had been something awful, though he fought hard to keep it in check. You could see it in the aggressive set in his jaw, the way the corner of his lip would twitch downwards whenever his frustration was getting the better of him.
Which recently was always.
And you felt for him, truly you did. The office had piles and piles of mounting casework, drowning in endless wrongful eviction notices, insurance disputes and appeal, after appeal, after appeal.
Despite this, there was still hardly any money coming in, the lights of their little office being kept on just barely, yet it bothered Matt far more than usual.
Beyond that, the streets of his beloved city had been poisoned by a new string of unexplained fires as of late, the arsonist having successfully evaded him for weeks straight, all traces of evidence seeping through his battered fingers like hot, burning ash.
The fire starter had at last been cornered by the Devil two nights ago, this encounter leaving him with several broken bones and a hefty hospital bill in sight, yet it had done nothing to temper Matt’s energy.
As a matter of fact, recently it seemed like nothing could burn off the restless, unrelenting hum that simmered beneath his skin.
Except for moments like right now.
“Fuuuck yes, that’s it sweetheart”, he moans out on top of you, his skin slick with sweat, and his jaw slackened as he pants deeply into your skin.
“God, you take it so well baby.”
His praise elicits a high moan from you, your body utterly pliant as he fucks into you relentlessly, his pace precise and devastating. It didn’t matter that you’d been with Matt for nearly a decade, or that you’d had sex more times than you could count; Matt was methodical, a perfectionist really. He would have you a melted, whining mess each and every time.
Except-
“Fuck Matt, please go harder!”, you cry into the crook of his neck, your voice muffled and desperate as he bullies his cock into you, the stretch of him the most wonderful kind of pain.
That is until the stretch slowly begins to fade away.
You can’t quite make out what’s happening at first, a quiet whine slipping from between your lips at the loss of the warm, aching burn of him that makes way for a new sensation, one far more foreign and unexplained. Your brain lags in momentary confusion as you open your eyes to see Matt’s mortified expression, barely registering the way the tips of his ears had gone almost scarlet, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously, buying himself time as he tries and fails to speak.
You realise then what has changed his demeanour so suddenly, your own expression somewhat mystified as your walls begin to pulse gently around the smooth velvet of Matt’s softened cock.
“Um…”, you begin carefully, your voice small and a little hoarse, a far cry from the noises of pleasure that had filled the room mere moments ago.
Above you, Matt is entirely still, his mouth still partly open as he blinks in disbelief, like his brain is completely unable to wrap itself around what has just happened.
“I- I’m-“, he tries, his words floundering and trapped as his thoughts seem to topple over themselves, his brows knitting together in what looked like irritation, but you knew him better.
He was ashamed.
“It’s okay”, you say a little too quickly, internally wincing as your voice comes out far too thin, shooting for comfort and missing by miles.
“Seriously Matt, it’s fine”, you try again as you skim your fingers up one of the arms that still cage you in.
He softens ever so slightly, tilting his head subtly to the side, seeming to settle some as you allow him to listen to your heartbeat, apparently content in the fact that you were telling him the truth. You reach up to cup his face in your hand, the stubble of his slightly grown out scruff gently scratching against your palm.
“C’mere”, you murmur softly, and a radiant warmth blankets you as Matt wordlessly curls into you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting his weight settle over you entirely.
A few breaths pass like this, your fingers scraping lightly through the fluff of his hair as his breathing slows, regulating himself once more. But a tightness in his shoulders lingered in your hold, locked and knotted, and impossible to hide.
“You good?”, you mumble into his hair and he rustles a little beneath you, a long puff of air blowing from his lips.
He hums out noncommittally, his brain almost definitely replaying the moment on loop, undoubtedly imagining this situation to be ten times worse than it really was.
“Not exactly my finest moment”, he grumbles bashfully into your neck in a lighthearted attempt to hide.
You snort out in amusement as the syllables loosen against your skin, the vibrations of his muffled complaints tickling against your throat.
“You’re probably just stressed”, you hum and Matt lets out a scoff, the pair of you entirely aware of the irony.
“I’m always stressed.”
A faux sigh falls from your lips.
“That’s true”, you begin teasingly, a sly smirk slipping onto your face as his ears prick up slightly.
“Maybe you’re just getting old then.”
That gets him at last, a warm sensation bubbling in your chest as you feel his begrudging smile spread across your neck.
“I am not old”, he asserts petulantly, and you can’t help the giggle that flies free from you at last at the sound of his whining.
“There’s no shame in it Matty”, you assure him, your voice smooth as butter and you swear you feel him roll his eyes at you, his eyelashes fluttering softly against your skin as he burrows into you even deeper to keep from laughing.
“Statistically, lots of older men struggle with performance issues.”
That comment is rewarded with a swift jab to your side, his fingers tickling into you mercilessly as you writhe desperately in his grasp, your uncontrollable laughter filling the room.
“Matt!”, you wheeze out in between giggles as you blindly try to catch his hands in yours - something that proves to be a nearly impossible task.
Curse you and your stupid Devil senses.
“Stop it, I’m gonna pee!”
“Say I’m young,” he threatens, his voice dripping with amusement as his fingers continue their assault.
“Okay, okay!”, you squeal as you squirm beneath him, breathless with laughter.
“You’re a goddamn spring chicken, Murdock. Now get the hell off me!”
He relents at last, an all too pleased snicker catching in his throat as he slowly traces his finger tips along your sides now, gentle and languid. In kind, you pepper fleeting kisses into his hair, finally catching your breath back and delighting in the way his chest rumbles at the contact. A yawn tugs at your features as the heat of him, and the comfort of your silken sheets lulls you both at last into tiredness, thinking yourself grateful that you’d managed even momentarily to shift his mood to something lighter.
You fall asleep in each other’s arms, the beat of your heart against his ear sending him off with the unfortunate interruption from before long forgotten.
——————
Until it happened again.
And again.
And again.
In the days that followed, Matt had seemingly made it his mission to give you the sex he felt you deserved. He had you in position after position, the feel of him draping himself across your back as he fucked into you, or seeing him tower above you, slamming into you with your knees up by your shoulders. You didn’t know if it was the stress or the pressure he was putting on himself, but regardless it always ended the same way.
A few moments of uninterrupted bliss, followed by the feel of him deflating inside of you like a popped balloon.
“Goddamn it”, Matt growls as he thrusts into you, his movements harsh and unforgiving.
Over the last few days he’s come to recognise the signs before it happens, his senses finding a new way to curse him as he tries to fight the sensation to no avail. He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, humiliation crashing over him in waves as he feels his body once again betray him and rendering him utterly useless.
On a terse sigh, his movements come to a stop, unable to prolong the inevitable any longer as his cock shrinks within your walls, the burning shame and fury radiating off him.
After what seemed like the most agonising stretch of silence, he pulls out of you before shifting over to the edge of the bed with his head hung low.
You don’t know why you hold your breath as you try to search your brain for the words, but either way nothing comes.
“Matt, it’s-“
“Please just- just don’t”, he cuts in, his hand slicing upwards in the air as his chest rises on a sharp breath.
“I’m sorry, I just…”
He drags his hand down his face.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Your face softens in sad recognition. For all your jokes, it was clear the effect this was having on Matt on top of everything else. You knew it had to be killing him.
“Honey, there’s nothing wrong with you”, you say softly as your hand comes to his shoulder, gently rubbing the knots out of it as you talk.
“You have so much on your plate right now sweetheart. You haven’t been sleeping. It’s just catching up with you, I think.”
He tilts his neck into your touch, his lips parting ever so slightly as you methodically drain the tension from his body, the muscle rolling and warming beneath the pressure of your hands. As you drift them upwards towards his neck an old, long dormant memory forms in your mind of the two of you ten years younger and in bed just like this, your hands wandering his body, kneading and skating across his skin. The bed of course was far smaller, a solitary, creaky frame in the corner of a dorm room that barely fit you both, the tiny room a fond capsule of a time in your lives where the world never seemed to stretch beyond you and Matt and those four walls.
A warmth pools in between your thighs as one rogue thought from that specific memory worms its way into the forefront of your thoughts. You can still recall the sounds Matt had made as you broke him down piece by piece, his moans reckless and wild into his pillow, begging for more and more. You remembered salty taste of his skin and the way he shivered at the contact of your lips hungrily mouthing at his neck, all teeth and tongue, consumed entirely by need.
You didn’t even realise you’d started to flush, but Matt knew.
He always knew.
“Sweetheart?”, he prompts gently, his head tilting towards you.
“You okay?”
You turn to face him before you can change your mind, your desire completely overshadowing any reservations you may have had at broaching this subject.
“Yeah”, you nod, your heartbeat hammering against your chest.
“I think I have an idea.”
——————
He’s pretty sure that his brain stopped working.
Error 404: Matt’s brain not found.
Does not compute.
Ask again later.
Even now, days later he couldn’t wrap his head around what you’d suggested to him. Something you hadn’t done together since college.
Something had never even come up since.
He had told you he needed to think about it.
And he had been.
A lot.
A lot, a lot.
In fact, if he thought about it hard enough, he swore he could still smell the lube that you’d used, unscented and specifically chosen by you for his sensitive skin. He could still feel your hushed panting in his ear, each hot breath sending a shiver rolling through him; could still feel the glorious thrill of being stretched open, his body marked and claimed by you from the inside out-
Jesus, fuck.
Matt winces slightly as he shifts in his seat, the rapid hardening of his cock becoming almost painful against the confines of his work trousers.
So now you want to work, he thinks bitterly.
“… So what I’m thinking is if we go through the documents for Mrs Alvarez’s case first and then loop back to- Matt?”
“Hmm?”, Matt blinks, his head snapping towards Foggy.
“Dude, are you even listening to me?”, he asks jokingly as he sifts through the paperwork.
Matt shifts again slightly, his cock so hard that he has to bite back a moan at the friction of the seat at his desk.
“Yeah, yeah sorry. Uh, Mrs Alvarez?”
Foggy continues his plan of action blissfully unaware of the agony Matt had unexpectedly found himself in as he once again mulled over your proposal.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to.
But how could he?
How could he offer himself up so freely when he’d been so unable to give you what you need? How could he be so selfish as to let you just give him a pleasure he hasn’t been able to chase on his own in years, something so personal and vulnerable and goddamn breathtaking when he couldn’t even control his own body long enough to give you the kind of love you deserve?
And yet… you wanted him like that, you’d asked for it.
He didn’t understand it, not in the least.
But God, he wanted it.
He could barely hear Foggy’s strategies over the rush of blood in his ears, his throat suddenly completely dry as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, desperate to appear as normal.
Of course, Foggy wasn’t fooled for a second.
“… but really, if we’re going that route we’re gonna need to be careful about getting witnesses for- Matt seriously man, you okay?”
Matt swallows hard and gives a quick nod but he is entirely too preoccupied with the now bordering on painful problem in his pants.
“Hey, do you mind if we pick this up tomorrow?”, he asks, attempting to appear casual but there was no hiding the strain in his voice.
“You sick?”, Foggy responds, furrowing his brow in concern.
He rises quickly, normally skilled fingers fumbling around for his briefcase and notes, almost tripping over his desk with how quick he was moving.
“I’m- yeah, yeah, I’m sick”, Matt mutters already half way out the door, and if you’d been there to witness this moment, he knew you’d have never let him live it down.
“I’ll- I’ll call, okay? Sorry Fog, I’ll see you in the morning.”
He vaguely registers a mystified “what the hell was that?” from his friend as the door shuts abruptly behind him.
But he didn’t care.
He flagged the first cab that came by and booked it straight home.
——————
Taptaptaptaptap.
Matt's foot drums against the floorboards with frantic insistence, a rabbit's heartbeat trapped beneath skin. He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, teeth worrying at the edge of a fingernail until he forces himself to stop. It doesn't help. Nothing helps. His whole body hums with anticipation so sharp it borders on ache.
Would you know?
Would you hear it in the way his breathing catches the moment your key turns in the lock? Would your mouth curve into that knowing smile before he'd managed to say a single word?
Could you tell how badly he wanted this?
Wanted you to take the choice from him?
To settle him beneath you with quiet certainty, to keep him exactly where you wanted him, exactly how you wanted him. To leave him with nowhere to run but toward you, nowhere to hide from the heat, the fire that's been coiled inside him for weeks.
He doesn’t know if he’s got it in him to mask up tonight, to pretend he’s anything else but yours. If you saw straight through him like glass, Matt swears he’s at peace with it.
It’s a strange feeling, he thinks; this openness that he rarely connects with, this desire to surrender himself to you.
Your key turns in the door.
“Honey?”, you call out from the hallway and a sensation of gentle warmth seeps into Matt’s chest, his shoulders relaxing some at the sound of your voice.
“In here.”
He clears his throat roughly, his voice wavering slightly as he works himself up to what he wants to say.
And how the hell he’s going to say it.
He isn't afraid of the words themselves. He's afraid of hearing them leave his own mouth, raw and wanting and undeniable.
Because once they're spoken, he can't pretend they belonged to a passing fantasy.
They’ll belong to him.
“Hey”, you say lightly as you toe your shoes off, setting your bag down in the corner.
“You okay? Foggy said that-“
You are cut off mid breath when Matt takes your face in his hands and drags you in for a bruising kiss.
A startled moan gets trapped in your throat as he licks into your mouth, his tongue lapping against your own, clumsy and fervent, like it was unbearable for him to keep to himself for a second longer. You sigh happily into him as one hand lingers against the side of his neck, your thumb brushing lightly over the sensitive skin.
When he finally comes up for air, you pull away from him just enough to see his face fully and feeling slightly drunk, a lopsided smile creeping onto your face.
“Hey to you too”, you breathe, your chest sparking with joy as Matt smiles warmly in your direction.
“Guess you’re feeling better, huh?”
His lip quirks into a small smile, mischievous and a little guilty at the reminder of his… abrupt departure from the office earlier.
Of course Foggy had already told you.
“Can we talk?”, he murmurs softly, his face still so close to yours as his hands grip your waist firmly, unwilling or maybe unable to part with you.
You hum a soft noise of agreement as he leads you to sit with him on the bed, his hands nervously fiddling with your own.
“About what you said the other night…”, he starts.
“About your idea? What you asked me?”
You nod once, suddenly unsure as to where this may be going.
Had you really overstepped the line?
Had you freaked him out?
Upset him?
“Matt listen, we don’t have to-“
“Nononono”, he interrupts just a little too quickly, his tone suddenly urgent as he squeezes your hand reassuringly.
“It’s- I want to.”
Time seems to freeze before you as his words tumble out, nervous and wired. He swallows once and goes again.
“I… want you to.”
As a hazy understanding comes over you, a slow, wicked smile crawls onto your face, desirous and sinful and dripping with intent.
God, yes.
“You want me to what, Matty?”, you purr softly, your voice coated with a sweet, deceptive innocence that had his cock twitching in his slacks.
“You want me to fuck you?”
He swallows down a whine just barely, a soft broken noise catching in his throat at your bluntness.
“Yes”, he whispers.
You rise from the bed, standing directly over him now and forcing him to look up in your direction, his eyes warm like melted honey in the dim light of your bedroom, lips parted on a shaky inhale.
“Then ask me”, you say coolly, your fingernails trailing up the muscle of his arm, the airy movement making his brain short circuit in the most incredible way.
“I… please”, he breathes out on a whispered sigh, his eyes fluttering closed in surrender.
“Please fuck me, sweetheart. I need it.”
You trace the back of your hand lightly down his cheek, a strange but welcome feeling unfurling from inside you as you gaze down at him, a thrill of power rippling up your spine at the sight of him like this, so open and willing.
Underneath you, Matt was already breathing hard, the thoughts forming in his mind of what was to come enough to have his control fraying by the second.
But that was the point, he knew.
He had to let go now, his trust in you steady and unwavering to take care of him just like you always did, without judgement or condition.
To strip back the layers of him that he couldn’t release on his own, the stress, the pain, the guilt, all of it.
He didn’t want to feel anything but you.
He didn’t want to think, or do or be anything for just one night.
Please, he thought.
Please just take it all away.
“Okay, angel”, you concede on a hushed murmur, the barest hint of a shiver passing its way through you and straight to him also.
“Get undressed.”
——————
It had been years since you’d done this.
Your eyes stay fixed on the contents of your bedside drawer; painkillers, headphones, a vibrator…
And right at the back, hidden beneath the clutter lay a silicone cock and a half used bottle of lube.
Right next to you, Matt lies on the bed, bare and beautiful, the faintest flush creeping up his chest as he tries not to squirm. He is half hard already, his fingers subtly flexing in and out as though he’s being restrained by anything other than his own control.
That’s certainly an idea for next time.
Taking it into your hands, you consider it carefully, the smell of the rubber floating around your nostrils. Matt stirs slightly, his mouth quirking upwards as he listens to you fiddle with the straps.
“You struggling?”, he smirks in your direction, and heat floods your cheeks.
“Shut up”, you mutter pointedly as a loose giggle flies from his throat.
You had to admit, you looked a little ridiculous. You couldn’t quite remember where the straps connected, how to keep everything in place, how honestly huge it was. What you did recall was the initial shock all those years ago that you had even gotten it up there last time. You fight with it a little longer before everything finally slips and clips into place.
And then you place it to one side.
Matt’s face slips into an uneven and curious smile, his eyes squinting ever so slightly as he feels you settle over him, tracking the way your knees dip the mattress on each side. His tongue flashes out to wet his lips nervously, realising his mistake as soon as he does. He can feel you hovering over him, the heat of you, the plush skin of your thighs bracketing him in…
But he can smell you too.
And it’s almost unbearable.
A quiet, bitten off groan slips free as he drags in the scent of your core; rich and fresh and wonderfully you.
“Sweetheart?”, he whispers cautiously, his eyes flicking from left to right.
“What- what’re you-?”
“You’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you?”, you coo gently, shifting so that your cunt lingers directly above his face, the lower half of your legs holding down the rippling muscles of his arms.
His breathing picks up, every hitched breath bringing the scent of you deeper and deeper into him, his eyes flashing with frantic restraint.
Of course he could throw you off if he desired, you both knew this.
But your devil was exactly where he wanted to be.
“Gonna let me ride your face like a good boy?”
Matt actually shudders beneath you, his body eager and fervent as he nods his head yes.
“Yes, God yes. Please sweetheart, give it to me.”
A molten hot ripple passes through you at the sight of him so desperate and willing; your stomach doing a small flip as this symbol of strength and power renders himself so openly vulnerable under your touch.
If you were truthful, the sight alone could have been enough to work you over to the brink.
But you weren’t about to let him off that easy.
You cut off his pleading moans, granting him grace as you settle your cunt over his lips, delighting in the way his entire body relaxes for the first time in weeks.
——————
The lack of air was meaningless.
Sheer, unadulterated pleasure courses through him as he laps at your pussy, the feel of your slick against his skin sending the blood rushing straight to his cock. He moans freely into you, the sounds thick and glutted as desire takes him over entirely. He burrows himself as deep as he can, a proud warmth blooming in his chest at your sharp cries of his name.
Your hips roll down into him, chasing the friction as your pulse kicks up; sparks of flame catching against your core every time his nose bumps against your clit. The sounds of your harsh panting and his muffled grunts fill the room, your body feeling like it’s caught fire as his tongue glides through your folds, traces of your wetness smearing down his cheeks. The sight of him like this was one you’d remember forever; face flushed and hair wrecked, his wrists flexing some beneath the hold of your legs, testing his boundaries.
An unrelenting pressure builds in your stomach, heavy and burning, as Matt uses every last bit of energy he has to drive you up, and up, and up until your thighs are trembling around his face and he can drink his fill of you.
Your vision burns white hot behind your eyes as your mouth parts open in shock, the force of your orgasm hitting into you like a freight train. The sound that rips itself out of you is unlike anything you’d ever heard, something caught between a howl and a scream as Matt licks and sucks your pussy like a man starved. Relentless and frenzied, Matt hones his senses into you entirely until he is utterly consumed, like his only purpose on earth was to bring you to the edge of insanity.
At last you ease yourself away, your heartbeat still racing as you come down from your orgasm. The urge to see him properly is irresistible as you shakily clamber off of him, eager to catch the fucked out look on his face. Of course, your devil didn’t disappoint - laid out on his back, panting and boneless and utterly spent, a glazed over look in his eyes and you hadn’t even gotten your hands on him yet.
Something that you both were suddenly all too aware of.
Like a pair of crackling live wires, you surge towards each other, your bodies melting together in frantic, fervent passion; a mess of tangled hands in hair and shared breaths, breathless kisses with too much tongue and teeth and still needing more, more, more.
“God-fuck!”, Matt moans into you, his words choked off as you bite into his lip drawing the tiniest drop of blood before sucking it off of him.
“Turn around”, you whisper hotly, your eyes trained on his as a flash of realisation passes over him.
He does as you say, wordlessly turning, an electric sort of hum vibrating through his veins as he allows himself to be moved by you, his chest heaving up and down as his nervous system works overtime trying to war with this relinquishment of control, his composure hanging by a thread that you were determined to snap. You had to admit you weren’t faring much better, the curve of his ass before you like a forbidden fruit that you were inexplicably drawn to taste. He jolts a little as your hand kneads into the plush skin, testing and wandering as you switch between gripping him firmly, and caressing your fingers lightly over the slope of the bottom of his spine. You can’t help but smirk to yourself as he grinds himself into your hand, little frustrated huffs puffing into the pillow.
“Sweetheart, please just- ah!”
His words are cut off with a sharp smack to his right ass cheek, the impact hitting with such force it echoes around the space.
“You’re so pretty like this Matt”, you say absently, ignoring his choked off moan as you drag your nails down his bare back leaving bright red marks in your wake.
“You needed this, didn’t you? Needed me to take control of you for a night, hmm?”
“Yes”, he nods fervently, a feeling of utter bliss washing over him, a mindless, relentless need to be broken down by you and pieced back together all the better.
“Yes, please yes. I need it sweetheart. You know I do.”
On some level he feels completely insane.
Every instinct he's ever trusted rises against it, urging him to pull away, to protect himself. Yet your touch unravels him, melting into his body like a cascading flame until resistance becomes little more than a distant memory, one that he is unwilling or maybe even unable to reckon with.
If surrendering to this feeling meant slipping willingly into danger, then so be it. There were worse fates than being consumed by you.
Matt’s ears prick up as you shift around him, the gentle squirt of the lube onto your strap like thunder in his ears.
“God, please”, he whispers so hushed you almost don’t hear it, his eyes screwing shut in anticipation as he listens to you massage it in.
You shush him gently, your fingers much more forgiving against his skin as you gently work his legs father apart, the muscle in his thighs pulling taught against the sheets. Forever careful with him, you press one finger already slick with the lube right up against the underside of his hole, the grinding pressure alone causing him to claw into the sheets, a torn cry ripping from his throat as he tries to roll back into you, stopped in his tracks by your other hand pressing down on his lower back.
“But-“
“Patience, baby”, you tease, your voice like silk as you prevent him from chasing his high.
He swears his brain is melting out through his skull as he scrabbles at the mattress desperately, a frustrated huff slipping out not entirely unlike a child.
“Please don’t make me wait anymore”, he begs softly, your pupils blown out as you watch him writhe and grind his swollen cock against the mattress, unable to decide which kind of friction he craved more.
“Just- just let me have this, please. You can do whatever you want to me sweetheart, I swear!”
You lift your hand from his lower back, your fingers coming to push his hair out of his face, his forehead already sheening with sweat as he melts into your touch.
You almost didn’t catch his next words, so breathy and vulnerable it makes your thighs clench together under the toy.
“Please help me.”
Mercifully, at last you bring the toy to line up with his entrance, suppressing a delicious shiver as he mewls brokenly beneath you, his breathing almost erratic as he tries to push up against the head.
“Okay, okay”, you begin on a breathless chuckle, his need lighting you up from the inside out.
“But we need to go slow baby, I don’t want you to- Matt, wait!”
The noise he makes is nearly impossible to describe; something blurring the line between pain and pleasure and all too revealing as he sinks himself down into the silicone. The sudden burn inside of him is both wonderful and terrible, every nerve ending in his body frying off in pleasure, in ecstasy, in lapping waves of too much, too much, more, more, more.
“F-fuck!”, he cries out as the air is punched from his lungs, his brows knitting themselves together before his face begins to slacken, his mouth shocked open in pleasure.
“Are you okay?”, you ask him frantically, your voice high and thin as you watch him dig the heel of his palms into the mattress like he wants to fight against the feeling, before at last dragging in a few deep breaths and relaxing his muscles.
“I’m- I’m fine”, he stutters, sounding wrecked already, his body seemingly unsure what to do with itself as he writhes in the sheets.
“Do you need to sto-“
“No!”, he blurts out, a flash of panic crossing over his face as he helplessly rolls his hips back up into you, a stifled moan slipping free.
“No, no, I don’t wanna stop.”
God, seeing him like this was heaven.
Soft, and dazed, and entirely yours.
Dragging in your own steadying breath, you adjust yourself slightly so you can drape yourself over his back, lustfully observing the way he hisses as you press further in. You take just a moment to press a kiss to the back of his shoulder, a soft whine sitting in his chest as his hand fumbles for yours. His grip on your fingers is like iron, his only real way of grounding himself to the room, a deeply necessary comfort for him when being stripped down like this.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart”, you whisper against his skin, your breath huffing warmly against a small freckle down the curve of his back.
You squeeze his hand once, a silent question.
You ready?
Without hesitation, he squeezes yours.
Yes.
He swears he could die happy then and there, dragged into a hazy fog of sheer, overwhelming euphoria when at long last you begin to fuck him.
——————
It was actually better than you remembered.
Long past the point of pretence, Matt moans freely into the pillows, his muffled cries leaving you utterly soaked, your wetness dripping onto his skin. Breathless and wild, you fuck into him deeper and deeper as his body succumbs to the pleasure, the fight drained out of him entirely.
“God, please!”, he cries, the syllables slurred and thick and bordering on a sob as the tendons in his neck strain, a hot flush painting his pale skin scarlet.
You knew he wouldn’t last much longer like this, and you were determined to give him the high of his life. On another rough thrust, you use his shoulders as leverage to get closer to his face, your breath fanning hot against his ear.
“Touch yourself, Matty”, you order breathlessly and his brain seems to short circuit for a moment, blinking rapidly as he tries to focus.
“Come on baby, let me see how badly you wanna come.”
Like a man possessed, he drags his hand from yours, the feeling of his fingers gripping around his cock as hot as a brand as he pumps his hand up and down, his eyes rolling back as he works himself over. Your own hands are everywhere, all over him and keeping him with you, your nails dragging across his shoulder, sloping up and around his neck, applying just enough pressure to restrict his air slightly, leaving him a gasping, whining mess. This level of ecstasy should be impossible to reach, he thinks; an unattainable dream meant only for those most deserving. As the toy brushes up against that spot inside of him, brought there by the merciless drive of your hips, he felt utterly weightless - untethered by gravity, by violence, his soul overflowing with borrowed starlight, lighting up every forgotten corner of him until there was nothing left but the heat of you.
He feels it then, that glorious, familiar pressure building up white hot in his stomach, more intense than he’s experienced in months. He doesn’t know if he can hold on, a startled, panicked moan flying from him as you fuck into him relentlessly causing that knot within him to tighten further.
“I- I’m close”, he stammers out as his body begins to lock up, utterly powerless against the coming orgasm that threatens to send him into another plane of existence.
“I don’t think I can-“, he starts, cutting himself off with another gasp, fire and heat coursing through his blood as you reach forward to work him with your own hand, the rhythm identical to the one you are fucking him with.
Through the haze of your own arousal, you stare at him in wonder, unable to look away from him as you witness his release creeping closer and closer, his moans now morphing into screams as you fist your other hand into his hair.
“I don’t want you to hold it”, you murmur into his ear and God help you, you can practically hear his heart battering against his chest, an obscene feeling of power lighting you up.
“I want you to come just like this. I want you to make a mess of yourself and know that it was me that got you here.”
Your words have him howling now, drunken and fervent as every shape and shade of red dances and curls behind his eyes. A distant part of him is desperate to make this last longer but the strength to hold on eludes him entirely, his body locking up once more as at last his orgasm crashes into him, the wail that tears from him a fractured, raw thing; a noise he’d have been embarrassed about if he’d had more sense.
But his sense was gone.
The noise was gone.
Every bad thought, feeling, and worry he started with felt a million miles away as his body trembles underneath you, riding out this glorious high before at last slumping into the sheets, the gentle ache in his body serving as a reminder of what you’d done to him.
It’s unclear exactly how much time passes, his brain only half aware as his senses begin to reorder themselves, vaguely registering the soft vibrations of your voice. It’s something indistinct at first, like a pressure behind the eyes rather than a sound or a touch, as though the world is trying to reassemble itself through fractured glass.
But there is no fear in it.
If anything, there is a strange, buoyant ease, as if whatever has broken him apart has done so gently, letting him drift but never fall.
A low, uneven rhythm threads through the haze, laboured and panting, and it takes a moment for Matt to work out that it might be his own breathing. The air itself feels different too; thicker, the scent of sweat and sex filling his nostrils once more.
His muscles respond late, lazily, as if reluctant to leave the comfort of the stillness he so rarely gets to have.
There is a pressure against his side, the warm weight of you, he realises; reassuring him even now as he comes back to himself without urgency or distress, as though he has all the time in the world.
For a suspended moment he exists in a state that feels almost euphoric, unmoored yet perfectly safe, like floating just beneath the surface of waking. And then, gradually, his senses begin to align, stitching meaning out of scattered impressions, the world resolving not into something harsh or demanding, but something quietly radiant and newly familiar.
As the aftershock settles over him, his half hard dick twitching limply against the broad muscle of his thigh, you gently caress the side of his cheek, his eyelashes fluttering as he leans into your palm.
“You back in the room?”, you murmur softly, a sweet smile gracing his features as he sighs contentedly.
“Mmm, give me a few business days”, he mumbles, clumsily pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm.
A safe sort of silence settles over you both as you caress the slopes of his skin while he comes down, warm and gentle and calm, your thoughts drifting away until-
“Thank you.”
You blink owlishly before looking down at him, a faint pink tinge colouring his cheeks.
You shake your head lightly as you press more kisses into the back of his neck, the pair of you so spent that you border on unconsciousness.
“No need. I like being able to get you out of your head when you need it”, you say simply.
“Plus it’s seriously hot”, you add on with a smirk, a lopsided smile tiredly creeping onto Matt’s face as he chuckles beneath you.
“Yeah?”, he mumbles wryly into the pillow, his head tipping up ever so slightly.
You hum approvingly, your fingers dragging lazily up his side once more. A faint sigh slips past his lips, more at peace than you think you've ever seen him.
"Careful," he murmurs, his voice gone hoarse as tiredness threatens to take over at last.
"You're going to spoil me."
"That the plan”, you grin, brushing your nose against the shell of his ear.
He lets out a quiet laugh, warm and relaxed, and a little disbelieving too.
"You know..." you continue, absentmindedly tracing the line of his ribs.
"I could really get used to seeing you like this."
"Like what?"
You pause for a moment, before finally settling on what you want to say.
“Peaceful, I guess”, you murmur, shrugging your shoulders lightly.
At that, he smiles again; soft and private, a sight that never failed to give you comfort.
“I’m very well taken care of”, he concedes warmly, and you can’t help but fall in love with him just a little more at his admission.
His fingers thread with yours then, fitting together as though they'd always belonged that way. His thumb strokes lazily over your knuckles, absent minded and affectionate, the tension that had clung to him for weeks now long gone.
And it would come back of course, you both knew it.
But right now it didn’t matter.
You’d be right here at his side, always, helping him through it however he needed.
“Always”, you sigh happily, sparing him one last kiss before you both fall asleep.
Summary: Nelson, Murdock and (Y/L/N) doesn’t have the same ring as Nelson and Murdock, this was true. If only there were a way to keep it the same… perhaps changing a last name would help.
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: slightly suggestive if you squint, alcohol use
__
“To Nelson and Murdock!”
“To Nelson and Murdock!” The trio cheered along, clinking the mis-matched glasses clumsily together. A sloppy collection of an old Columbia mug, some glass Foggy had borrowed from a diner and a mason jar all were clutched in hand, filled evenly with some cheap boxed wine that was far too fruity to even be considered as such.
“You know,” (Y/N) swallowed, having had a rather large sip of wine. “We could probably afford an actual set of glasses for the office—”
“But it wouldn’t be as eclectic, no?” Foggy mused, mug barely staying hooked on his finger. “Come on, you know how hard I worked to get Matt’s glass?”
“Putting it in a takeout box isn’t really all that hard, Fog—”
“Okay Saint Matthew, didn’t realize I was on trial here.”
clarification: english is not my native language, so i apologize in advance for any mistakes.
MATT MURDOCK ♡
Matt is the type of person who unconsciously smiles whenever he hears children laughing nearby. He’ll never comment on it, but there’s something about genuine happiness that always softens him, even after the worst nights.
He secretly enjoys rainy days. Everyone assumes it’s because they drown out the city, but it’s actually because Hell’s Kitchen smells cleaner afterward. The momentary freshness of the air is a sensation Matt rarely gets to experience.
He owns far more sweaters than anyone expects. Foggy teases him constantly because every winter he somehow pulls out another identical dark knit sweater from his closet. The truth is, Matt suffers through winter even more than other people. Because of his heightened senses, the cold seeped into him more easily.
Despite everything he’s lived through, he still believes people can change. He doesn’t always want to believe it, but he can’t stop himself from hoping.
Matt falls asleep embarrassingly fast whenever someone plays with his hair. He’d deny it if anyone pointed it out.
He has a habit of talking to abandoned churches whenever he visits them alone. Not praying exactly... more like thinking out loud, hoping God is still listening.
Every stray dog in Hell’s Kitchen somehow ends up liking him. Foggy insists they can sense he’s “one of them.” Not to mention the times Karen joined Foggy in insisting Matt adopt one!
Whenever he bakes (which isn’t often), he measures ingredients entirely by touch. Karen refuses to question how it somehow always turns out edible.
♡ WITH YOU:
Matt always knows when you’ve entered a room, but he’ll still ask, "Is that you?" just because he likes hearing you answer. He loves your voice.
Whenever you’re reading beside him, he’ll absentmindedly reach for your ankle, your wrist, your shoulder—any part of you. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Physical contact grounds him more than he’ll ever admit.
If you fall asleep on the couch, he’ll carefully memorize your position before covering you with a blanket. The next morning he’ll tease you for staying up too late reading, but he’ll never mention how long he stood there simply listening to you breathe.
He loves kissing your hands. Not in a dramatic way—just absentmindedly while you’re talking, while you’re cooking together, while you’re sitting beside him. It’s almost become second nature.
Whenever you wear perfume, he’ll bury his face in your neck for a second longer than necessary. He says it’s because he wants to remember where home smells. Although it’s also partly because he wants to fill you with his own scent. He loves smelling himself on your skin.
Matt is the kind of man who instinctively shields you from crowds. A hand on the small of your back, fingers brushing yours, quietly guiding you through busy sidewalks before you even notice him doing it. Usually, it’s your arm he grabs to guide you, even though you both know he doesn’t need it, but it’s impossible for Matt not to want to protect you in a crowded place.
If you’re anxious, he’ll ask you to tell him about your favorite book, series or movie. Not because he necessarily cares about the plot (although he does), but because he knows your voice changes when you talk about something you love.
Every scar you have eventually gets a story attached to it because Matt always asks where it came from. Years later he’ll remember every single one. Kiss every single one.
He has a habit of kissing your forehead whenever he thinks you’re asleep. The problem is... you almost never are.
After particularly bad patrols, he won’t ask for comfort directly. He’ll simply sit beside you on the couch until you open your arms. Only then will he quietly melt into the embrace, resting his cheek against your shoulder as if he’d been holding himself together all night just to make it home.
Matt wouldn’t admit it because he wants you to rest, but secretly, whenever he comes back from patrol, he hopes you’re there awake waiting for him. It feels complete to feel your body awake and waiting for him.
Sometimes he’ll stop in the middle of a conversation just to smile at you. When you ask why, he’ll shrug and murmur: “your heart does this thing when you’re happy.” He never elaborates.
On Sundays, if neither of you has anywhere to be, he’ll convince you to stay in bed just a little longer. He’ll call it “resting.” You both know it’s because those quiet mornings are the closest thing to peace he’s ever found.
DEX POINDEXTER ♡
Dex alphabetizes almost everything without realizing it. Books, canned food, files, even the medicine cabinet.
He remembers tiny details people forget about themselves. Birthdays, favorite drinks, the exact sentence someone said months ago. His memory is almost frighteningly precise.
He actually likes routines. Eating at the same place, taking the same route home, sitting in the same seat... repetition makes the world quieter.
He’s surprisingly good with animals. They don’t expect him to make eye contact or hold conversations, and somehow that makes interactions easier for him than with most people.
If someone sincerely praises him, he’ll think about that compliment for months. He probably won’t know how to respond at the moment, though.
Dex collects little habits from people he admires without noticing. Sometimes he’ll start using the same expressions or drinking coffee the way they do.
He enjoys assembling things. Furniture, puzzles, model kits... anything with instructions that promises a clear outcome.
His apartment is almost unnervingly neat, not because he likes cleaning but because clutter makes his thoughts feel louder.
♡ WITH YOU:
Dex notices patterns long before he notices feelings. Before realizing he’s in love, he realizes he unconsciously looks for you in every room.
Dex is obsessed with you, and it’s the closest thing to love someone like him could ever know. He needs to take care of you, he needs to be with you. You’re good for him, you make him feel good, and that’s all he wants: to be your good boy.
If someone gets too close to you in public and you look even slightly uncomfortable, he’ll be beside you before you’ve processed what happened. He won’t make a scene unless he has to... but the look he gives the other person is enough to make them leave. Although part of him keeps replaying that moment over and over; it’s easy for him to find the person who made you uncomfortable, it’s easy for him to kill that person for causing you to feel bad.
He doesn’t really understand casual affection at first. The first time you kiss his cheek for no reason, he’ll freeze for a full five seconds, quietly replaying the moment in his head long after you’ve walked away.
When you’re watching a movie together, he almost never watches the movie. He watches you watching the movie, memorizing every laugh, every gasp, every tiny expression. Anyway, Dex had already seen that movie before when you suggested watching it; he needed to know what happened, why you liked it or why it caught your attention. Everything had to be perfect.
If you absentmindedly play with his fingers while talking, he won’t interrupt you. He’ll stay perfectly still because, somehow, you’ve turned one of the most dangerous hands in New York into something gentle.
Dex has a terrifying aim, which means he’ll casually toss you your keys from across the apartment without looking. It becomes so normal that you stop questioning it... until guests witness it for the first time.
If you steal food from his plate, he’ll stare at you for a second before quietly sliding the rest of it toward you. He was going to eat it. But apparently you wanted it more.
Complimenting him has side effects. Tell him once that blue looks good on him, and suddenly half his wardrobe slowly becomes blue over the following months.
Physical touch overwhelms him sometimes—not because he dislikes it, but because he’s still learning that affection doesn’t always come with conditions. On those days he’ll quietly sit shoulder-to-shoulder with you, close enough to feel your warmth without asking for anything else.
He isn’t very good at saying “I missed you.” Instead he’ll say things like: “You usually get home twenty-three minutes earlier.” Somehow, that means exactly the same thing.
When nightmares wake him up, he won’t wake you. He’ll simply reach for your hand under the blankets, holding it until his breathing slows again.
If someone insults you, he won’t react immediately. That’s almost scarier. He’ll simply look at them with that unreadable expression of his, file away every detail about them... and you’ll have to gently squeeze his hand under the table to remind him that not every problem requires a target.
He loves when you play with his hair, even if he’d never admit it. The first time your fingers brush through it, he instinctively leans into your touch before catching himself. After that, he’ll pretend it doesn’t affect him, despite unconsciously moving closer every single time.
Sometimes you’ll catch him staring at you from across the room. Not in a creepy way—more like he’s making sure you’re still there. When you smile at him, he’ll immediately look away, almost embarrassed that you noticed.
If you ever call him Ben instead of Dex, he’ll pause for the smallest fraction of a second. No one really calls him that anymore. Hearing it from you feels... different. Softer. Like the version of himself he keeps wondering if he could have been.
Choices and mistakes. They are not one of the same. Many confuse the two together whenever they choose to hurt the person they claim to love. Or they know the difference but would rather lie to themselves than face the ugly truth of their actions. Their choices. Matt was familiar with this concept and became filled with shame whenever his choices sprung up in the dead of night. It was one of his demons that kept him up from a restful sleep.
He made a choice and in turn, destroyed something beautiful and caused irreplicable damage to someone he thought he loved. For the longest time, he placed the blame on Elektra. If she never appeared into his life things may have been different. A wedding ring would have graced your ring finger, maybe a child or two, or the relationship you once shared would’ve ended on better terms. Such an array of possibilities that’ll never come into fruition and it was his fault. They lingered in the back of his mind sporadically as his world grew quiet. Those rare moments when the noise disappeared and all he was left with was his thoughts.
His thoughts will always go back to that night. The night when he disappeared with Elektra despite knowing of the beautiful person that waited for him. Disregarding the plans the two of you made. Only for him to never show up, leaving you feeling humiliated and foolish. On his birthday nevertheless. After the well needed detoxing of Elektra, he learned, from Foggy, how terrified you were that something terrible had happened. Only furthering his frustration of his past actions.
It was a choice and he paid for it dearly but hearing the once oh-so familiar heart beat had him believing the universe was willing to equip him with another chance. A chance to be with you after all these years. A redo despite his past actions. If you were willing to do so.
He knew there were questions he would need to answer and he would gladly offer you the truth. While he had little success with keeping a steady relationship, he’s learned a thing or two about his past choices. Communication, honesty and respecting boundaries is a must. Especially with a past such as the two of you shared. He knew you were uncomfortable with Elektra around despite never vocalizing it. Rather than respect your boundary, he constantly crossed it without a single thought of his actions. He left you feeling insecure without comforting you nor drawing a line for Elektra not to cross. Especially when you weren’t around. He stopped spending time with you and spent it all on her. He wasn’t honest with you either and for that he hoped to reconcile.
You’ve accepted his apology and hope sparked in his eyes. Maybe the two of you could start anew but his daydream was shattered as soon as you refused. You’d refused despite not knowing the horrid truths about that night and the nights before it. The stolen kisses that were once shared under the moonlight when you were alone in your dorm room. His clothes scattered on the floor as he expertly removed her clothing, his lips meeting hers and his hands exploring every inch of her being like they had once done to you. In the moment, he knew it was wrong but he was so enamored by her that he pushed all those feelings aside.
There were times when he wondered if you could feel the sin radiating off of his body. If you can taste the infidelity off of his lips. He wondered if some part of you knew. If you had suspected of his betrayal but refused to vocalize it into existence. If you were scared to.
Accepting his offer of a redo would’ve allowed him to be honest with you. Of all of it. Even the more shameful parts of the past he’s kept in for so long. It was something you deserved to know even now. The answers to the questions you must’ve had and the once that must’ve emerged as he approached you. You deserved to know how and why he threw your relationship away long before his birthday. He was just too selfish to let you go and dragged you along with him.
Elektra did not care about being his mistress. In fact, it was thrilling to be able to flaunt herself in front of you. Showing off the power she held over him and he mindlessly allowed her to do so. She would touch him in front of you, smirking at the secrets she’d held. The secrets she shared with him. Matt was hers, not yours. You could not satisfy him enough to stay. You were, in her mind, a silly little child that couldn’t fend for themselves. Matt needed someone more deserving of his love. She was merely along for the ride to watch the good in his life burn into ashes and she did so swimmingly.
You deserved better though. So much more than anything he had to offer you. He was dense enough to believe he had a second chance to be with you. Life only allowed him to apologize but nothing more. He brought this upon himself and he alone shall reap the seeds he’d sowed alone. You had left with your friend a while ago. Reuniting with Foggy and Karen, they worried about him.
Foggy was more worried as he had witnessed the blossoming of your relationship to its unfortunate aftermath. He knew Elektra was a bad influence on Matt, bringing out the reckless wildness in him, and with her disappearance left a bad taste in his mouth. He resented her for the longest time upon learning of her involvement in his friend’s infidelity. You, too, were his friend but you decided it was best to part ways as you did not want to be the cause of any more disagreements between the two friends. He knew it wasn't fair of you to see them act as a happy couple. Especially when Foggy had caught Matt in bed with Elektra in their dorm room so soon after the breakup. He’d noticed the box of Matt’s things and his keys on the table and hoped you hadn’t had the dismay of seeing them. Forgiving Matt was hard as it completely changed his perspective on the man. He hurt you more than just a simple breakup text. He scarred you and for that it took him a long time to forgive.
“So…” Karen began, trying to find the words to ask, “what’s the story? Who is she?” She had never seen the two start off cheerful to be lost in thought so swiftly. Yes, there were times when she’d seen Matt spiral and Foggy blatantly furious with Matt but never nothing like this. The joy they once had upon entering Josie's was drained away once the two noticed the woman. There was a story there she did not know, one she might not want to know, but an important one to fester such a response.
They didn’t answer. Matt was too lost in his head to form any type of response and Foggy did not know if he had the right to tell a story that was not his. The past had pounced on them without warning and they were left in its echoes.
warnings: (18+ minors dni) eventual smut. mention of blood and graphic scenes of violence. blasphemy. constant mention of the catholic religion.
attention: mention of the uterus and its loss! mention of motherhood as something expected, taking into account the context of the 1920s.
word count: 5084
clarification: english is not my native language, so i apologize in advance for any mistakes.
Owney Madden hadn't been released yet, but the lethal cadence of unparalleled violence born in the shadow of his existence was more than present in Hell's Kitchen. Now that his release was a reality, it meant it was time to rebuild the foundations of an empire that would later be remembered in the city's history.
The idea was to find key locations in Clinton with enough influence to go unnoticed or to intimidate people. Space was also necessary to safeguard what would later become as precious as gold: alcohol.
Clinton Church had an ideal location to pass itself off as something, and at the same time, it had loyal followers who listened to Father Steven's words without question. The church had an attached orphanage, making it an important hub for future smuggling; the children were easy to train and manipulate, and the young women who took refuge there could be used for many other purposes.
The plan was simple. It wouldn't be the first time a church had joined a criminal network.
The convent refused. It said no to the web of death, corruption, and bloodshed woven by Owney Madden's gang.
The Gopher Gang—Madden's gang—decided that if Clinton Church didn't join them, then they would suffer the consequences.
The police would call it an isolated incident.
May 23, 1923
The doors of Clinton Church slammed shut behind you with a thud that echoed through the nave, as if the entire building had breathed its last with you. Your hands trembled so much you barely managed to slide the old iron bolt; the metal squeaked beneath your bloodied fingers as your weight finally collapsed against the wood.
Outside, Hell's Kitchen burned.
Not amidst flames.
It burned with voices.
The gunshots continued to echo through the narrow streets like premature thunder, mingling with shouts that arrived distorted by the distance. You could hear men laughing, boots pounding on the cobblestones, orders shouted with that carefree violence possessed only by those convinced the world belongs to them.
Owney Madden was still in prison.
But his men were already walking the streets as if he had never left the neighborhood.
The Clinton Church had the sacrilege of not bowing to corruption.
It said no to hiding weapons and alcohol. It said no to the corruption of children and to handing over its young novices and girls.
The Church refused to become just another cog in a machine of a city that seemed to have forgotten the difference between faith and fear.
And Madden's men never took no for an answer.
Another gunshot pierced the air.
Then a scream. It was high-pitched. Too young.
You closed your eyes.
You recognized that voice. It had been one of the novices; she couldn't have been more than seventeen. She had arrived just a few months before with a battered suitcase and the hope of finding a place where the world stopped hurting.
On the other side of the wall, separated only by a small stone courtyard, stood Saint Agnes Orphanage. You thought of the children hiding behind the windows, huddled together while the nuns tried to cover their ears so they wouldn't hear the horror unfolding beyond the stained glass.
You prayed they wouldn't come out.
You prayed Madden's men wouldn't cross that courtyard.
You prayed...
and kept crawling.
Each movement left a new scarlet stain on the wooden floor. The trail of blood snaked between the pews as if another, invisible creature were walking behind you, claiming every drop that left your body.
The incense from the morning mass still hung in the air. It mingled with the iron in your blood and the damp scent of the ancient stone, creating a strange, almost solemn perfume, as if the church had begun preparing your funeral long before you crossed those doors.
Inside, the church remained silent, a silence so ancient it seemed to have outlived all the prayers uttered beneath that vault. Only the ragged rustle of a crawling body broke the stillness. You were fortunate that they presumed you dead and tried to eliminate those outside. They wanted those outside first, so no one could escape.
Your hands left a dark trail across the flagstones as you groped your way to the side altar, away from the front door, away from the overturned pews and the stained-glass windows shattered by Owney Madden's men. Each breath was shorter than the last. The iron of your blood mingled with the harsh taste of dust, and for the first time since you'd learned to hold a rosary between your fingers, you understood the true meaning of agony.
You didn't want to die.
Not there. Not like that. Not at the hands of filthy men who only sought to stain the streets of your beloved, damaged home crimson.
Your fingers found the crucifix hanging around your neck. The silver was warm, soaked with your own blood. You gripped it with the desperate strength of someone who has nothing left to offer.
“Please…” the word barely left your lips.
Then came another. And another.
Not a memorized prayer, but a broken babble, a plea born of fear.
“God... please…”
The church didn't answer.
The crucifix remained motionless between your fingers.
Yet… something changed.
It wasn't a sound. It was the complete absence of them all. As if suddenly deafness had engulfed you and the mere presence of despair was all that surrounded you.
The trickle of blood stopped.
The wind ceased to pierce the shattered stained-glass windows.
Even the pain seemed to cease, suspended in a moment that no longer belonged to time.
Then a voice spoke.
It didn't descend from the ceiling.
It didn't emerge from the shadows.
It had no direction.
It simply... existed.
Profound. Immense. Powerful.
So ancient that no human language could have claimed it as its own. You didn't understand its language, yet at the same time, you did. You recognized and didn't recognize the voice. It was a strange sensation that clung to the very core of your being, beyond the physical.
“You ask for salvation.”
Tears streamed down your cheeks before you even realized you were crying.
“Please…”
“There is no salvation without sacrifice.”
The air grew heavy. The cross was still in your hands, but suddenly it felt heavier.
“What protects must first relinquish what it was made to preserve.”
You frowned. Those words echoed in your head, and you turned them over in the brief moment you had, trying to understand them.
It didn't make sense, not entirely.
A dagger lay just inches from you, fallen to the ground where you had left it when you collapsed. That same weapon had repeatedly plunged into your side; violent thrusts that dug into your skin without mercy while your screams of pain adorned the macabre scene of your attacker.
A nobody, a pawn who only followed orders, but at the same time enjoyed the brutality of being the one with power. He plunged his dagger in without a second thought, drove it in so hard that it became embedded in you.
The dagger must have fallen from dragging yourself so much. Or perhaps you pulled it out to try and deny the pain you felt.
You didn't remember it, you didn't remember the movement, but at that precise moment it didn't matter.
The important thing was that it was there.
With an effort that made every muscle in your body tremble, you reached for it; your fingers closed around the dagger's hilt.
“I have nothing, my lord,” you whispered with barely any strength. “I only have this body that is about to perish under your gaze.”
The voice didn't respond right away.
When it did again, it no longer sounded like an order. It sounded like the truth.
“Then offer that from which life begins.”
The whole world seemed to hold its breath.
You looked at your own body, the same one you were about to leave with your last breath. The blood still spreading beneath your legs. You were a pathetic sight, a human being in its final moments.
Then you remembered.
The womb, so often described by priests and mothers as a sanctuary destined to give life.
Since childhood, you had been taught that the greatest gift bestowed upon a woman resided there. That one day that void would be filled by another life. That motherhood was not just a destiny, but a promise.
What if you gave it up?
Who would you be then?
Not a wife.
Not a mother.
Not what the world expected.
Just… you.
A person willing to surrender the future that would never be yours. The future everyone told you you had to achieve.
The tip of the dagger rested on your abdomen.
You closed your eyes. You didn't utter a prayer.
Only a promise.
“Take it.”
The blade descended.
The pain was so immense it ceased to feel like pain. For an instant there was no flesh, no bones, no blood, but a white light that pierced every corner of your consciousness. You felt something leave your body, not torn away by your hands, but claimed by a will infinitely older than your own.
Your womb was empty.
Not empty of organs. Empty of destiny. The destiny imposed or chosen. The destiny implored or cursed.
Empty of possibility. Of all that the world had decided you should be.
The voice spoke for the last time.
“Then rise as that which no longer gives life... but guards it.”
Darkness fell upon you as softly as a blanket.
Your hand went limp, and the dagger struck the floor. The rosary remained trapped between your motionless fingers.
And your heart stopped beating.
For an immeasurable time, the church was deserted once more. The clamor of agony, despair, and violence echoed in the distance, far, far away.
For a few fleeting moments, you were nothing. A being no longer of the living, but one about to ascend to heaven or descend into hell.
You weren't alive; you had left life.
Until, somewhere between death and dawn… a breath broke the silence.
Your lungs filled with air with an unfamiliar force.
Your eyes snapped open.
They were no longer the same.
Nor was it the thirst that awoke with you.
The first heartbeat didn't reach your chest. It reached the church. It was the wood creaking under the weight of centuries, the stained-glass window barely trembling on the eastern wall, the wax melting with impossible slowness.
Then… came the hunger. It wasn't born in your stomach or your body.
It was an ancient, primal need, hidden in a corner of the universe long before churches, men, or the names of God existed. It surged through your veins like a raging river, filling every space the blood had left behind.
The world had changed.
No.
The world has always been this way.
It was you who had never been able to see it.
The darkness ceased to be darkness. The stones breathed centuries. The dampness hidden between the bricks had a scent. The incense still hung over the oratory like a golden cloud, and behind it, you could distinguish each drop of blood that had fallen from your body, each with a different fragrance, a different story.
You sat up with unnatural slowness. Your joints protested for barely an instant before settling as if they had never known the wound that had pierced your abdomen. There was no trace of the pain. Nor of the cold. Nor of the blood that minutes before had left your body to stain the marble red.
Only the rosary remained between your fingers.
You clutched it tightly.
“Thank you,” you whispered with the greatest of thanks.
You called, and He answered. God didn't save you.
He consecrated you.
Protect.
The church remained shrouded in gloom, but your eyes no longer needed the light. The darkness had become a second skin; you could make out every crack in the stone, every grain in the wood, every breath hidden within the centuries-old walls. Beyond the altar, on the other side of the doors, twelve hearts continued to beat.
Twelve.
You heard them with unbearable clarity.
Each heartbeat pierced the temple like a bell.
Each carried the same scent.
Gunpowder.
Sweat.
Blood.
Sin.
Thirst answered before you did.
You didn't walk toward them. You disappeared.
The first scream tore through the silence of Clinton Church with such violence that even the stained-glass windows seemed to tremble. Then came another. And another. The gunfire began almost immediately, hurried, chaotic, fired at an enemy no one could comprehend.
The bullets found columns.
Pews.
Plaster saints.
Never you.
You moved too fast for human eyes to follow. Barely a shadow crossing the space, an icy rustle between the pews, a black figure appearing where just a moment before there had been no one.
The men began to back away.
They weren't fleeing a person, but a revelation.
Fear changed the scent of their blood. It became more intense, warmer, almost intoxicating. Each racing heart fueled the hunger that burned within you like a prayer uttered in reverse.
The entire church seemed to breathe with you.
The crucifix hung suspended above the altar, motionless, observing everything with the serenity of one who has witnessed centuries of human violence. At its base, blood began to spread slowly between the lines of the wooden floor, tracing a dark river that flowed toward the sanctuary as if seeking to reach it.
You didn't look away.
Each life taken was another weight on your shoulders.
Each silenced throat was another prayer that would never be uttered again.
And yet...
the voice did not return.
There was no reproach, no condemnation.
Only the same immense silence that had filled the church when you pleaded for help.
Perhaps that was the answer. Mercy had ended where desecration began. To protect required becoming what men would call a monster.
When the last shot rang out, Clinton Church fell silent once more.
A different kind of silence.
Not the silence of peace.
The silence after judgment.
You stood motionless in the center of the church. Blood trickled slowly down your hands, dripping onto the rosary you still held as if you had never let go. The air smelled of iron, incense, and melted wax. Outside, dawn was breaking.
The first rays pierced the shattered stained-glass windows and illuminated the main altar.
For a moment, the light fell upon your figure. You ignored the pain it caused, which for the moment was minimal, but would soon grow.
The nuns, who were slowly emerging from their hiding places, didn't know what they were seeing.
It wasn't an angel.
It wasn't a demon.
It was a person who had died defending the house of God and had returned transformed into something capable of making hell fear to cross its gates.
The two weeks since your awakening had been a succession of discoveries, as fascinating as they were exhausting.
The world had kept turning without you for ninety-four years, and now it forced you to catch up with it in a single step.
Electric light was commonplace, not something only big cities usually had; the gadgets you once saw as luxurious no longer roamed the streets of Hell's Kitchen, and instead, a ceaseless river of cars roared even into the early hours of the morning.
From the small windows near the basement ceiling, you could see the reflection of the neon signs coloring the centuries-old stone of Clinton Church, and there were still nights when you would spend long minutes gazing at them with the same fascination as a child. Sometimes you forgot you had awakened in another century until Sister Maggie came down with a cell phone in her hand or Father Lantom left you a recent book to help you understand this world to which you no longer belonged and which, nevertheless, remained determined to welcome you.
That day you were resting on an old wooden chair next to a table covered with anatomy books. You had requested everything the church could get its hands on about modern medicine. The illustrations were different, the techniques too, but the human body remained the same. You continued running your fingertips over the pages as if, by memorizing those new names, you could recover the nurse you had been before becoming something else.
It wasn't thirst that frightened you most since you had awakened. It was the possibility of having forgotten how to save a life.
The measured sound of footsteps descending the stairs broke the silence. You recognized Father Lantom before you even looked up. In those two weeks, you had learned the rhythm of his steps, the calm breathing with which he always approached you, and the soft creak of his knees as he stopped in front of the door. You carefully closed your book as he entered the room, still wearing his coat draped over his shoulders.
“I didn’t expect to find you awake”
You barely smiled.
“I still find it hard to get used to sleeping when the city doesn’t,” you admitted. “It’s… very noisy. Everything. Kind of overwhelming, both day and night.”
You weren't lying, not entirely. You were tired, but sleep wasn't what would give you the energy you needed.
Lantom let out a low laugh before glancing at the open books on the table.
“You’re still studying.”
“I need to remember, Father,” you said softly.
He understood immediately what you meant. There was no need to explain. During those two weeks, he had never tried to convince you to leave behind the person you had been before 1923; on the contrary, he seemed determined to bring it back to you little by little, as if he believed it still remained intact beneath the monster.
For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. Silence was never awkward with him. He had this strange ability to wait until the words came on their own. However, that day something was different. You noticed it as soon as your ear focused again on the rest of the church.
An unfamiliar heart.
Its beats were weak, irregular.
The smell arrived just a moment later.
Human blood.
Warm.
Fresh.
Your throat tightened.
You immediately lowered your gaze, ashamed that you had recognized it so easily.
“This is someone who needs help,” Lantom finally said.
You didn't answer. You couldn't. The more you listened, the more clearly you could make out that heart struggling to stay alive. You could hear the blood rushing through exhausted arteries, the breath gasping between lungs, the whole body seemingly clinging desperately to life.
“He is very badly injured. Right now, the sisters are doing everything they can.”
Your hands began to tremble on the edge of the table.
“I’m not the one to… ,” you whispered, shaking your head slightly.
Father Lantom did not answer immediately. He took a step toward you, just enough for the yellowish light of the lamp to fully illuminate his tired face.
“Sister Maggie told me that you bandaged your hand again this morning.”
You glanced absently at the white bandage around your knuckles. It had barely been a tiny cut; it had disappeared in a matter of minutes. Yet you had covered it out of sheer habit, just as you would have done before you died.
“Customs die hard,” you murmured.
“Thank God.”
Those words made you look up.
Lantom smiled with a serenity you had never been able to comprehend.
“Before you became this, you dedicated your life to caring for others. I don’t think that disappears just because you now have fangs.”
Your throat burned again.
“Father… I can smell their blood from here.”
It wasn't a confession. It was a warning.
He nodded slowly.
“I know.”
“I’m hungry,” you whispered.
You felt ungrateful. They had been prepared for you, in case the demon of Saint Agnes ever awoke again. They fed you, they fed you with the blood of some sacrificed animal.
But it wasn't enough.
“I know that too.”
You clenched your fists until your nails dug into your own palms.
“What if I can’t stop?” you said this time, raising your gaze to face him.
The question hung between them. For a few seconds, only the sound of their hearts beating above their heads existed, slower and slower, weaker and weaker, like a candle silently burning down.
Father Lantom took another step and placed a hand on the back of the chair in front of you.
“Ninety-four years ago you believed that God was asking you to become that which protected this church. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps you weren't. I will never know who answered your prayer that night. But I do know one thing.”
He waited until you looked at him again.
“If you were truly chosen to protect, then it can’t be solely to take lives. It also has to be to save them.”
You felt something slowly breaking inside you.
Because, for the first time since you'd awakened in that unknown century, you understood that Father Lantom wasn't leading you to a dying man to test the monster.
He was trying to give a nurse back the purpose that death had stolen from her.
He had faith in you. You didn't know how he'd been trained to face you if you ever woke up, but you could sense his honesty. Father Lantom saw good in you; he ignored or accepted the monster—you weren't sure.
It scared you, really scared you. What would happen if you let yourself go? What if he or Sister Maggie saw the dark side of you? Would they still accept you as another sheep of God, or would they condemn you as an abomination of the Devil?
“I… can help,” you said slowly. “But… little by little. And I need to know that… that you’re there, that Sister Maggie is there, please.”
Father Lantom said your name. “Of course, you are not alone in this.”
When you returned to the small room with a fresh basin of clean water, you noticed the change even before crossing the threshold. The man's breathing was no longer the same. It had lost the deepness of sleep and now rose and fell with the irregularity of someone struggling to regain consciousness. You carefully placed the basin on the table, trying not to make too much noise, though you doubted it would change anything. His entire body seemed torn between remaining asleep and waking up to a world that, judging by the tense expression on his face, you sensed he never wanted to return to.
For the past few hours, you had cleaned his wounds, changed his bandages, and stayed by his side long enough to learn the sound of his heart. It was a stubborn organ. Even battered, bruised, and exhausted, it clung to life with an almost violent determination.
You could hear it now, throbbing beneath the bandages you yourself had applied, accompanied by the slow flow of blood through exhausted arteries. That, more than anything else, made your throat burn. Human blood still had a scent impossible to ignore; no amount of animal blood had ever managed to silence that call. Yet, you had learned to live with it for a few weeks, to endure it like one endures an old pain that never truly disappears.
The man opened his eyes slowly. It wasn't a sudden awakening, but a cautious one, as if even regaining consciousness required an effort he could barely afford. His pupils remained motionless for a few seconds, lost somewhere on the ceiling, before he began to scan the room with evident bewilderment. He seemed to be searching for something familiar within those stone walls, some explanation for his continued existence.
“Elektra…?” he asked in a voice so raspy it barely seemed his own. “Father Lantom…?”
You had forgotten how grave a throat punished by dust, blood, and smoke could sound.
“Father Lantom will be back shortly,” you replied calmly, trying to maintain a certain distance between you both.
Her head immediately turned toward the exact location from which your voice had come.
Not toward where she thought you were.
Toward where you actually were.
That caught your attention more than you were willing to admit.
“Who are you?” he asked hoarsely, but cautiously.
For a moment you hesitated, unsure what to answer. It was impossible to explain who you were without telling a story that no one in their right mind would accept as true.
“A new novice,” you murmured.
He didn't insist. Perhaps because he was too tired. Perhaps because the pain occupied too much space inside his body to worry about a stranger.
He remained motionless for only a few more seconds before trying to sit up. You saw him tense his abdomen under the blankets, brace his arm against the mattress, and push with a stubbornness that almost brought a smile to your lips. A single movement was enough to realize he was asking too much of a body on the verge of collapse. His muscles gave way immediately, and his balance vanished before he even realized it.
You reacted purely on instinct.
You reached him before he hit the floor.
Your hands found his arms with an ease that forced you to restrain yourself. You barely had to exert any force to support him; had you not been careful, you probably would have lifted him from the ground as if he weighed nothing. You feigned a small effort, just enough to make the movement seem natural, while holding him against you only long enough to restore his balance.
It was then that it happened.
The touch.
It wasn't the first time you had touched him. You had cleaned his unconscious skin for hours, changed his bandages, sutured wounds that anyone else would have considered fatal. But consciousness seemed to open a different door.
The moment your hands held his awake body, a wave of emotions surged through you with the same violence with which thirst demands blood.
Pain.
Not the pain of broken ribs or open wounds.
It was something much deeper.
An old guilt.
A weariness that seemed to have settled in his bones years ago.
Rage.
Fear.
And an immense loneliness, so heavy that for a moment you even forgot hunger. A loneliness that threatened to shut him down completely, mixed with the dread of uncertainty.
He was afraid and felt abandoned.
By whom?
You held your breath.
You had never felt anything like it. You could feel him, literally. You almost felt within yourself the emotions battling inside this man whom Father Lantom called Matt.
A pang of guilt stirred within you, like an intruder entering his inner world, rummaging without permission.
It wasn't your intention; you hadn't even known you were capable of feeling another person in such a way.
Matt also remained motionless. His forehead was just inches from yours, and for a brief moment, neither of you seemed to remember how to break that strange balance. He spoke first.
“You're…” He frowned slightly, as if trying to make sense of a feeling he couldn't quite grasp. “...cold,” he finished, somewhat puzzled. Luckily, he was still a little disoriented.
You lowered your gaze almost reflexively. Of course, you were cold. You'd been dead for ninety-four years.
You helped him lie down more carefully, making the gesture seem more laborious than it actually was, before taking a step back.
“And you’re too stubborn for someone who just woke up,” you muttered.
A barely perceptible exhalation escaped his lips. It wasn't quite a laugh; it was too soon for that. Yet, for a moment, the gesture softened the deep lines of exhaustion etched across his face.
Silence settled between them once more. You remained standing by the bed, watching him with a curiosity you hadn't felt since waking. There was something about this man that defied all logic. Not only because, being blind, he had turned his head precisely toward you. Nor because he had survived injuries that would have killed most men.
It was something else.
Something you couldn't name.
As if suffering had become a second skin for him, just as immortality had become yours. It was strange; for a few moments, you had felt what he had lived through, what he suffered. Just a few moments.
It was terrifying to be able to feel another person in that way.
“Are you still here, sister? I’m not… I can’t…” he murmured, confused. “I need… I need Father Lantom, I need… I need to know if she’s alive,” he said, in a vulnerable tone that you knew didn’t belong to a man like him.
You nodded, but then you remembered he was blind and almost hit yourself for your lack of tact.
“Yes, I’m still here, I…” you salivated. You salivated.
Suddenly, a wave of nervousness washed over you because you could feel his presence growing stronger.
He was alive. His heart was pumping blood, not with the weakness it had been when he first arrived, no, this time… this time it was stronger, and the sound intoxicated your ears like a siren's song to a lost pirate.
You had managed to restrain yourself during the short time you cared for him, even when, sometimes at night, you found yourself fixated on his heartbeat; perhaps to know if he was still alive, or simply because the rhythm tempted you.
But now… now something had suddenly pierced you to your very core. Your throat felt incredibly dry, and he felt so alive. You could not only hear the blood coursing through his veins, but you also knew with certainty that he was suffering.
What had begun as curiosity was now a different kind of feeling, one you longed to eradicate.
You were thirsty. Thirsty for him. Perhaps you could sink your fangs in for a moment. Perhaps scratch his wrist to lick a few drops. Maybe clean an open wound and be content with the scent of his warm blood?
No.
Father Lantom trusted you. Sister Maggie did too. This man trusted this sacred ground to heal, and you… you were thinking of drinking his blood.
You heard him speak, but you turned a deaf ear.
“I’ll look for Father Lantom,” you said quickly, as your feet began to move on their own.
As you walked away, you clearly heard his confused whisper. One that revealed how disoriented he still was.
“I cannot hear your heart.”
notes: so here's the prologue. it ended up being longer than i expected. but i really needed to lay the groundwork for this story.
there are many things about reader's vampirism that will be explained throughout the story. nothing is accidental or a mistake!
the first encounter between you two is quite confusing for matt, but for you… yeah.
Thank you so much to @fairydxll for allowing me to participate in your 2k writing event! Congratulations on 2,000 followers, your writing is phenomenal and you deserve every bit of success :) I’ve got 2 prompts, “you are enough. a thousand times enough.” + “and where do you think you’re going?”
Context: ~ I am but a hoe for Avenger! Reader so, are we really that surprised?
~ Your powers are basically Wanda’s powers, plus presence concealment (aka invisibility). I don’t touch on it toooo much since this is mostly focusing on Matt + You, but I do reference a bit :) Also you wear a mask, only the team + Matt know who you are.
Word count: 10.3k (oops?! sorry in advance if you hate long one-shots. I genuinely have no idea how this got so fucking long hasdfkasdghasdg I just kept writing and writing and when I was finished it was basically like oh shit… but I couldn’t bring myself to remove anything.)
Summary: Matt doesn’t get sick often, but when he does, you’d never guess he’s supposed to be a badass vigilante.
Word Count: 5,705 • Masterlist
Matt’s getting sick. You can tell.
Like the professional sufferer he is, he simply ignores it, or tries to, for as long as he physically can.
He’s not at the point where it’s going to impair his senses drastically yet, but you’d noticed the small sniffs he tried to hide, or the way he bumped into the corner of the counter because the pressure in his ears feels off.
So when he comes home from the office sweaty, and warm to the touch, even on the cool night, flopping on his front onto the bed still fully clothed with a big sigh and no energy to move, you know.
You watch from the doorway to your shared bedroom as he lays there for a few minutes, and he’s aware you’re creeping closer, before sighing and starting to get up.
That’s when you quickly pounce, and straddle the back of his hips, sitting on his ass as you pin him to the bed.
“Not a chance in Hell you’re going out tonight Murdock” you say, finality in your voice.
Matt turns his head to the side to speak to you, “I’m fine angel” he argues, which gives himself away because you didn’t even say why he couldn’t go out, even his usually sharp lawyer brain falling into the trap.
“Oh yeah? Do ten push ups with me here on your back and you can go” you taunt, thighs tightening around his hips to brace yourself for movement.
Normally, this would be nothing for him, he’s done this before hundreds of times, even seeking you out sometimes to do it during his work outs, so he huffs a cocky laugh under his breath.
He manages one, two, three before he starts to slow down, and grunts slightly in exertion.
He just about managed to get to five before you both suddenly drop down on the bed again, his shaking arms giving out from under him.
That may be impressive for the average person anyway, especially on the soft bed, but it is nothing for Daredevil. This is beyond a subpar performance.
If he can’t do this, how is he supposed to keep himself alive out there?
He huffs in annoyance, sensing your face is forming a victorious smirk because you know you’ve caught him. You know him so well. Too well, he thinks.
“Something wrong Matty?” You tease gently as he stays down.
He takes a big, begrudging sigh, then ever so slowly mutters “I’m getting sick…”
As if right on queue, he tries to hide the cough that rattles out his chest.
He tries to push you both up once more, as if he’s really just checking for himself now, but ends up flopping back on the bed with a grunt.
You coo at him sympathetically, not actually enjoying that he’s starting to feel sick, only that you were right and beat his stubbornness, and begin to rub your hands up and down his muscular back in a massage.
Matt hums a much more pleased sound at your actions, before outright moaning when you kneed the top of his sore, tight shoulders.
You had tried to prepare as best you could, made him take a long, hot, steamy shower to help open his sinuses, made him warm tea, and dosed him up with strong cough medicine, much to his absolute anguish because it tastes of pure chemicals. He’d stayed in just his underwear, already complaining that he was too hot even in the cool apartment, already feeling the awful clammy feeling of sickness sticking to his skin.
But alas, you woke up during the night with a very very warm, sweaty, feverish Matt wrapped around you.
He always gets extra clingy when he’s sick, it messes with his senses in a way he hates, so he likes to be close to you. He says that like he doesn’t always like to be as close as possible to you.
He’s got his sweaty head buried in your chest, strong arms tight around your waist. Your legs are tangled together beneath the sheets, and you feel a shiver run through him despite the heat radiating off your devil, so you run your fingers through his hair in a soothing manner, unsticking his hair from his damp forehead. He lets out a little groan semi-consciously at the feeling.
“How you feeling Matty?” You whisper, though you already know.
He makes another louder, pained groaning sound and shoves his face further in your chest.
“Like absolute shit, just let me die here” he mutters from between your boobs, “it’s where I’d want to go anyway.”
You huff out a laugh, content to doze more if his sickness allows it, and thankfully it does. Matt slips back into a restless sleep, occasionally letting out small displeased sounds as awful shivers pass through his overheated body.
You’re fully awoken again when your body decides you’re way too hot now. The only reason you’re able to wriggle out Matt’s iron grip is the fact he’s in a weakened state.
You’d be surprised that he didn’t wake up from your movements like usual, if you didn’t know you’d given him drowsy cough medicine. Hoping and praying it would help him sleep a little.
You really do feel for him when he’s sick, his senses must make everything worse and his lack of sight mustn’t help the dizziness.
It’s early enough to get up, you decide, checking the time. Maybe Matt would be able to eat some toast.
You’re making yourself some eggs, humming the tune stuck in your head when a sudden warm hand on your waist makes you jump out of your skin.
“Jesus! Matt!” You yelp, knowing who’s sweaty forehead was resting on the top of your hair. You were gripping the wooden spoon as though you were about to use it as a weapon.
Usually he’d scold you for your language, or laugh at your impromptu weapon before pressing kisses to your neck, snake his arms around your waist to pull you closer into him. Maybe have to fend off his gradually more, ahem- horny advances, at least until breakfast was done cooking. Well usually, he’d be awake before you.
This morning though, he still wrapped his arms round you but he was leaning rather heavily onto you, face buried in your hair as he mutters a weak apology for scaring you, habitually just always light on his feet.
“You were gone” he said quietly into your hair as though it explained everything.
“You knew exactly where I was Matty” you say lightly, reaching up to scratch his hair where you can. He still feels hot to the touch.
“Not like this I didn’t, radars off” he argues quietly, “my heads poundin’, feel dizzy, the pressure in my ears feels weird, can’t smell shit, can barely tell which way’s up.” He explains, “couldn’t tell where you were till I got closer...” He trails off.
After taking the your eggs off the heat, you turn in his arms to look at him. He goes to nuzzle into your neck but you bring your palms to cradle the sides of his jaw so you can see his face. He’s still burning up, he’s sweaty and pale, unfocused eyes half lidded and even more glassy than usual.
As much as it pains you that he’s sick, he looks so god damn adorable.
He’s wrapped in a fluffy blanket, hair messed up, looking so soft, like he doesn’t actually beat people up for a living.
You softly press your lips to his, ignoring his weak protest that you’ll get sick too, before he can’t help but melt into the kiss.
“Go back to bed, I’ll bring you some toast?” You suggest as you part from his lips, wanting him to rest.
Matt hums in agreement to the toast, but doesn’t leave the room. He simply lifts himself to sit on the corner of the counter, back against the cupboards, leaning his head to the side so it’s supported by the cornering wood. You can see the more obvious than usual movements of his head as he tracks your body, watching you in his own way.
After you finish eating breakfast, you take his hand to lead him back to the bedroom with a “come on you big scary Devil.”
He cracks a tiny smile at that.
Giving him some pain killers for his head, you force some more of the cough syrup down him as well, hoping it’ll help him sleep it off.
You’d think it tastes like some kind of poison with the way Matt reacts. Even just the smell makes him gag.
“Truly abhorrent bile” he calls it, but to him and his heightened senses, it probably really does taste like that.
He feels a tiny bit of relief when you press a cold cloth to his forehead in the hopes of bringing his temperature down, if not also feeling like a frail Victorian child.
Matt hates being sick.
It’s not the fever, or the coughing, though that’s not pleasant either. It’s the way it fucks with the pressure in his head, the way messes up his ears and nose, making the room spin, and makes him feel off balance with the pounding in his head. It’s the way he can’t feel the air shifting around him properly because his skin is too hot, and the way his blocked nose makes it hard for him to smell and taste.
It makes him feel too vulnerable. He can’t protect you like this. He couldn’t even find you in the apartment when he woke up, till he managed to hone in on your humming. He wishes he could just be sick like a normal person, he could handle that much better.
Settling into the bed, you’re content to spend the day with him as he rests. You pull out the book you’re currently making your way through together, as he lays on your chest. Lightly tracing pattern on his back, you begin to read to him.
You expect him to fall asleep but he doesn’t. You can see the way he’s still trying to make sense of well, his senses and what they’re telling him with the small head movements. He’s too on edge.
“Matthew” you say, voice suddenly sterner than when you were reading. He freezes at your tone and the use of his full first name.
“Relax” you sigh, “please, you’re sick. You need to rest” you plead, starting your hand through his hair now, scratching lightly at his scalp. You know it turns him into putty.
He sighs and leans into the touch, but you can tell he’s still tense.
“What is it? Hm?” You nudge gently.
He turns so his face is buried in your chest, taking in a deep breath.
“I can’t protect you when I’m like this” he mutters like he’s ashamed. “If something happened right now, I can barely hold myself up, if someone wanted to- to break in, or- or hurt you, or- or even-“ he chokes out, beginning to ramble, panic rising in his voice.
“Matthew Murdock, nothing is going to happen to me” you try to soothe. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and hold him tightly, “we’re okay, listen to my heart Matty, we’re okay, we’re safe, I’m here.”
Turning his face back to the side, to weak to argue, he lets your strong heart beat sooth him as you continue to play with his hair.
You strategically move your hand over the ear not pressed against your chest, so he can hear your pulse there too, surrounding him in the knowledge you’re alive and safe. Slowly, he finally falls asleep again, too drugged up to fight it.
Matt’s fever continues to rage, soaking sweat through your shirt, since he didn’t have one on, but you don’t care. You know he won’t sleep unless you’re this close to him, and you really need him to rest.
Content with a different book that you weren’t reading together, you let him sleep for as long as you can, till the gurgling in your stomach is too much to ignore.
Ever so slowly, you try to sneak out of the bed but Matt groans in protest at your movements, big arms trapping you.
“Matty, baby, I’m just going to the kitchen, I’ll be right back I promise” you soothe, pressing a kiss to his head as you wiggle free. He actually lets you, albeit reluctantly.
To your surprise, Matt stays asleep. He must be tired and dosed up. Good, he needs it, you think.
You order a nice big batch of Matt’s favourite ramen, helping yourself to some and leaving the rest ready to be reheated whenever you needed to feed a certain devil when he eventually woke up.
Just as you’re about to return, Matt appears in the doorway, visibly relaxing when he’s sees you. He quickly stumbles over to you and wraps his arms around your waist, bending down to bury his face in your hair.
“Everything’s okay Matty” you say as you kiss his bare chest.
“I got ramen from the place you like, you want some?” You ask softly. He simply nods against you, though you can’t see the small smile gracing his lips. You can hear him sniffle pitifully as he tries to douse himself in your scent, but it doesn’t really work.
Reheating some of the ramen, you dish it out for him and he eats eagerly, never one to lose his appetite. It takes a lot of fuel to power those stupidly big muscles.
“Thank you baby” he says gratefully in a soft voice once he’s finished, and feels a little more alive. He’s holding his head up in his hand as he takes hold of yours with his other, catching your wrist when you go to take his bowl.
You walk towards him, standing between his legs where he’s sat on the breakfast bar stool.
“How are you feeling?” You ask softly, and he wraps his arms round you as you reach up to check his temperature, he’s still hot.
“A little better” he mumbles out, followed by a cough that sounded ever so slightly looser. You kiss his forehead softly, then bend slightly to kiss his lips.
He hums into the kiss, suddenly much more awake as he pulls you tighter against him, hands dipping down to lightly grab your ass. You laugh lightly, but pull away from the kiss.
“You’re sick, Murdock” you scold lightly, no real heat behind it.
“I think it’ll help, might help me sweat it out” he mumbles cheekily in favour, ever the lawyer, chasing after your soft lips.
“Not a chance” you say firmly, pulling further away to clean up.
He pouts, actually pouts. He can hear the way your heart sped up at his actions, which makes it worse knowing you want it as bad as he does.
How he can be this ill and still be thinking with his dick astounds you.
By the time you leave to go back to the bedroom, he’s already stuck to your back. He’s kissing your neck as he pulls you against him, herding you out the room like it was his idea.
“But baby” he straight up whines into your neck, in a late response to your words.
For once though, a convincing argument doesn’t follow, showing how sick he still really is.
It takes all your willpower to turn him down, struggling as you feel every muscle in his body press against you as you walk, including a particularly hard part of him.
He’d been in nothing but his boxers all day, in a perpetual state of flushed and sweaty that kept reminding you of his state during or after you’d finished fucking.
Turning to face him as you stand in front of the mattress, you lean up on your toes, pulling him down slightly as you wrap your arms around his neck so you can whisper in his ear.
“You can have anything you want” you tease, feeling him grip tighten on your hips at your tone of voice, and you lean back to see his hopeful expression.
“When you’re better” you continue, booping his nose before letting him go.
Matt visibly deflates, hopeful expression gone.
“That’s just cruel” he grumbles as he crawls onto bed to sit with his back against the headboard, “I’m sick and you’re being cruel.”
You lean over him and give him a soft peck, actively avoiding looking at the tent in his underwear you can see out the corner of your eye. He’s doing nothing to hide it. Even thinking about not looking at it causes your heart rate to spike, and he smirks.
“I’m not being mean, I’m trying to protect my boyfriend from the perpetual hazard that is himself” you tease, kissing him once more before you turn to do your night routine in the bathroom.
He doesn’t have an argument for that either, so he huffs and lets you go, disgruntled and horny.
It had gotten quite late now, and his general sleepiness all day had made you feel extra tired.
Matt took his dose of the night time flu medicine you got him, and at your prompting and maybe a little bribe of a sexual favour, reluctantly has some more cough medicine too.
Climbing into bed, he pulls you tightly against his warm chest. You nuzzle into him, pressing kisses there as you both fall asleep fairly quickly.
When you wake up to pee during the night, you’re relieved to notice Matt’s body temperature had dropped. His fever must have broken through the night.
He’s a much more acceptable temperature to snuggle into now, you think as you crawl back into the sheets.
Matt stirs at the feeling of you burying your face deeper between his pecs as you go back to sleep, and smirks slightly to himself.
He actually feels much better, and silently thanks God for his accelerated healing burning through the fever so quickly.
You’re starting to doze off again when you’re suddenly lifted so you’re on top of him, chest to chest as he smiles devilishly up at you, laughing slightly at your gasp of suprise, then he’s kissing you. Slowly at first, but heatedly non the less.
You both kiss till your gasp for air separates you, but he wastes no time in kissing down your neck.
“Matty” you gasp, “you’re still sick” you try to protest as he nibbles your pulse.
“Feelin’ much better sweetheart, promise” he groans, finally able to take a deep breath of your perfect scent.
A fast healer in all senses of the word, he was never sick for long thankfully.
You laughed softly, reassured since he did seem to have a lot more energy and strength again. The world is suddenly flipped and your boyfriend is looming on top of you.
You felt him already hard and wanting against your stomach as he comes to lay between your thighs and it makes you hum out a moan. He’s already grinding into you, always so pent up and needy for your touch, your body.
All of a sudden, Matt seized his movements to dip his head to your chest and groans deeply, in a much more frustrated, unpleased way.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, voice rough with sleep.
He breathes out heavily, lifting his head to rest against your forehead with his eyes shut.
“You’re sick” he sighs mournfully, able to feel the small temperature shift in your skin, hearing your lungs catching on unformed coughs with every breath.
Now it’s your turn to pout, but he echoes your words of “you’re sick, not a chance” like his boner isn’t poking you right now.
“It pains me as much as you angel” he mumbles into your forehead as he presses a kiss there before he climbs off you.
“Probably more” he grumbles quietly to himself as he leaves the room to go and get the medicine you’d bought for him, and make you some tea.
You were sick for four days.
On the early morning of the fifth day, you felt a bit more like an actual human being.
Matt had been diligent in his caring of you, making sure you were already as comfy as possible, taking your temperature every time he felt it spike a little, getting you tea and honey the second he heard your breath catch in a cough, running you baths with different salts and oils.
He uses his heightened senses to cater to your every need before you even know you need it. If he wasn’t a lawyer, he’d probably make a good doctor.
Waking up wrapped in Matt’s arms, you were finally not feeling like complete death, and you’re even able to take a deep breath through your nose, before snuggling back into the warm body behind you.
A few seconds of contentment passed until you felt something hard pressed up against your ass like usual in the early hours of the morning.
Matt usually slept naked, any clothing irritated him too much and he preferred it when you slept naked too, though you have a very large suspicion that’s not the only reason he liked it.
You ground your ass back into him slightly, enjoying the little breathy huff of a moan that escaped his lips in his sleep. You smiled and bit your lip.
He’d been so good to you while you were sick, doting on you, making sure you were okay. He’d not left your side, even for devil duties.
He’d also been extra good about how much of a horn dog he is, refusing to touch you like that at all even if you’re the one encouraging it, when you had half heartedly argued he usually does most of the work anyway. Not even his own “help me sweat out the fever” argument worked.
You managed to sneak out of his hold, tipping him over slightly so he was on his back.
He’d been sleeping better, deeper, while you were ill, not so on guard because he’s not out beating people up every night, thus actually managing to relax for a while.
Settling between his legs on your knees carefully, after painstakingly taking the covers off him, you were face to face with his hard, twitching morning wood.
Running your hands up his strong thighs lightly, feeling the muscles flex at your touch, you leant over, watching his cock jump when your warm breath falls over it.
You glanced up quickly to check Matt was still asleep.
Only to jump at the sight of the open, unfocused, eyes boring into the lower half of your face, following the sounds of your breathing. His eyebrow was arched in question and he had his hands behind his head, bulging his biceps. His expression is entirely too cocky.
“What’cha doin’?” He smirks, hearing your heart pick up when you look at him.
God it’s so hard to wake your boyfriend up with a blowjob when he’s literally a superhero.
Instead of responding, you just move your mouth closer to his cock that seemed to be getting even harder.
His breath caught in his throat as you released another warm breath over him, more deliberate this time, making his cock jump again, before you slowly stick out your tongue to lick up the length of him, from the thick base to his flushed tip.
The smirk is gone now, replaced by a deep open mouthed moan. His hand flies down to grab a fistful of your hair, as he throws his head back to expose the pretty veins in his throat.
Not being able to wake him how you want is a small price to pay when he has these kinds of reactions, from just one stroke of your tongue.
“Fuck, baby” He gasps as you go back down, tonguing the line between his balls, only to come back up to swirl your tongue harder over the tip.
After taking the base of him in your hand, you give a few tugs as your tongue sweeps over his slit, which was leaking steadily already.
You love him like this.
Usually he’s the one who renders you speechless, unable to form a thought. But when you get your mouth on him, he turns to putty in your hands.
This is one of the times you love how sensitive he is, and he clearly does too.
Matt opens his mouth to argue about you being sick still, but his words are cut off with a groan as you take the head of his throbbing cock into your warm mouth.
He thrusts his hips up slightly at the sensation, though he’s still trying to control himself.
He’d been pretty pent up while you were sick, and you’re making it that much tougher for him as your hot tongue plays with the frenulum of his cock.
He bucks up again when you take him as deep as you can into your throat, grunting your name followed by a sound that is closer to a whine than anything else, as his hands continually tighten in your hair.
You let him decide the rhythm, encouraging him to move his hips, and using your tongue to stimulate the sensitive head, enjoying all the moans and sounds being pulled from his lips.
“Shit, sorry-“ he gasps out after a particularly hard thrust, causing you to gag slightly, which tightened your throat around his cock.
“Fuck, shit, fuck, baby, I’m gonna-“ he whimpers, not able to finish his sentence before he comes down your throat with a loud moan, continuing to buck his hips up to rock himself through it.
He whines again when you overstimulate his still hard cock, gasping and jolting when you swallow his load around him.
Slowly pulling off him, you smile up at him after making him twitch and whine some more with your tongue.
He’s sweaty and flushed, a little like how he looked when he was sick but with a much more blissed out expression. His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
Kissing up Matt’s chest, you end up resting with your thighs over his waist, your wet underwear coming into contact with his sensitive length making him gasp again, his hands tightening on your hips where they’d come to rest as you moved.
“Feeling a little better?” He huffs out, smirking that wicked smirk up at you. You hum in agreement, nodding as you lean down to kiss his swollen, self bitten lips.
Matt immediately kisses you back zealously, slipping his tongue into your mouth. He agrees, your body sounds and feels much better, your chest is clear and your skin isn’t as clammy or feverish. You’re still a bit warm but it’s much better than it was.
“‘M sorry I got you sick” he mumbles apologetically against your lips as his hands slip down under your panties to grope your ass, making you grind down against him slowly. His lips leave yours to kiss your neck, sucking and biting at your pulse point
“It’s okay” you gasp at the feeling of his teeth, “I’d rather-“ he nibbles again, “I-d always rather look after yo-you” you manage to moan out as he pulls you down harder onto his lap, your throbbing clit finally getting some sweet friction.
Matt starts to pull your thighs further up his chest, using his strength to basically lift you upwards till you’re sat on his pecs. You yelp in surprise and use the headboard to stabilise yourself.
“Matt!” You say as you try to movie further down again, but he can already smell how aroused you are, can feel it leaking through your underwear onto his chest.
“I need to-“ your words fail as he reaches to tweak one of your nipples, “need to shower!”
Matt hums in disagreement, “mm I don’t think so, all I can smell is you and how fucking soaked you are, missed your cunt baby, please let me taste you” he practically begs as he lifts you further up so you’re sat on his shoulders now, with your help this time.
Well, how can you say no to that?
You’d been sweaty and sick for days, but to Matt, you just smelt like you, amplified. All of your scent and pheromones released and sitting on your skin, it’s driving him crazy.
You’re manhandled again till your clothed cunt is hovering above his warm mouth, and he’s taking deep, dirty breaths of you, nuzzling into your thighs, pressing kisses anywhere he can reach.
You gasp as he tongues your clit through your underwear, and grab a fistful of his hair. He groans at the sensation and all his patience leaves him.
There’s a hard pressure at your waist and a loud ripping sound, then suddenly, you’re bare above him, underwear literally torn away and discarded. You gasp again in surprise as his eagerness.
Matt wastes no time pulling you down onto his mouth, not in the mood for teasing, and sets his tongue to work.
He holds you steady with his strong arms as he licks a broad stripe up from your leaking wetness to your clit, groaning deeply at the taste. Your hands tighten in his hair and on the headboard as you moan his name at the sudden pleasure.
He circles your clit with his tongue, one hand coming down to tease your hole before slipping two of his fingers inside your fluttering walls, finding the spot that makes you keen with practiced ease.
He’s mumbling about how you’re so good for him, you taste so good, against your core, the vibrations shooting through you making you even wetter.
He works your clit in circles with his talented tongue, while he pushes into your g-spot in a rhythm he knows makes you fall apart, and you do so quickly.
You’re moaning unbashfully, and writhing as much as he’ll let you, words of Matt or fuck being the only things he can understand, even with his superior hearing.
Matt’s groaning too, taking so much pleasure in your pleasure. He’s hard as hell again, but he wants to make you come on his face just like this. He can tell you’re close, your walls clenching erratically around his fingers.
With one final suck to your clit paired with the flicking of his tongue has you falling over the edge, you keen his name loudly as you rock yourself onto his face, pleasure sparking all over your body, your muscles tense and tight, feeling the way you soak his mouth below you. He outright moans at the taste of your release as he guides you through your orgasm.
Slowly removing his fingers, he tongues at your entrance, feeling your aftershocks clench around the muscle and he groans a rough fuck. When you peak down at him, he’s got a stupidly big smile on his soaked lips, his face the definition of pussy drunk. You giggle softly
He raises an eyebrow at the sound and asks “what?”
You scratch his scalp affectionally to which he practically purrs at.
“You’re just cute” you say as though it explains everything, like he’s not literally the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
“Pfft, cute? I’ll show you how fucking cute I am” he scoffs, then you’re suddenly lifted upwards into strong arms, span, and thrown into the mattress
Before you can even say anything, Matt hovering over you, and attacking your neck, uncaring about any hickeys he’s leaving. You moan again and fist his soft hair in both hands.
“Matt!” You try to complain about his manhandling, but he knows you like it. His senses tell him how your heart beats faster, how your face flushes and he can practically hear how your arousal seeps into your underwear whenever he uses his strength on you like that.
You moan when he presses the head of his still hard cock into your sensitive clit.
“Matty” you say again, but your tone has changed into something needy and breathy now, realising how bad you missed this after only four days.
“Missed your perfect cunt so much” he grunts into your neck, “fucking torture not being able to touch you baby.”
He’s grinding into your clit now in a steady rhythm as he continues to lavish your neck and chest with his attention, leaving you hickeys all over your breast and pulse points.
Unable to keep up his teasing, you both let out twin gasps when he readjusts, moving lower to slowly start sinking into your warm core.
He lifts his head up to capture your lips with his, moaning into each-others mouths as he sinks deeper and deeper.
“Fuck baby” he grunts as he bottoms out, grinding into you which makes you gasp and moan loudly, nails scratching into his biceps. “So fucking tight and wet for me” he groans deeply out.
After giving you a second to adjust, as well as himself because he swears you’re even warmer than usual due to the lingering fever, he starts a pace that slowly gets faster and harder, like he’s unable to help himself or hold himself back, till he’s got you basically bent in half, legs thrown over his shoulders.
You’re crying out loudly as he pummels the spot deep inside you with an inhumanly lethal precision that has you coming on his throbbing cock in no time, babbling about how good he feels.
The pleasure zips up your spine with every additional thrust, which he doesn’t let up until he’s moaning deeply too, unable to help spilling into you as your hot walls tighten around him, choking his cock. Both of your simultaneous moaning quietens as he leans down to kiss you passionately, breathing heavy into eachother smooths
After his thrusting slowly comes to a stop as he works you both through your highs, Matt flips you so you’re on top of him again as to not crush you, cock still inside you, and you snuggle into his sweaty chest.
“Glad you’re feeling better sweetheart” he whispers into your sweaty hairline then places a sweet kiss there, as he wraps his strong arms around your waist.
You’re both out like a light.
Thank you so much for reading!
Sorry is this is too similar to my Heatwave fic I just posted and my Isolation fic but this is the last pre written story I have to post😭
Stolen Glances (College!Matt Murdock x College!Fem!Reader)
Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I've been on a writing hiatus after feeling uninspired after a long while, and I think it's kind of helped reset my creative juices. I'm entering my busy season at work, so I don't know how much time I'll have for writing in the future, but I'm back to feeling more like myself. I figured one of the best ways to return to writing was with some College Matt! Enjoy! :)
Summary: Your best friend convinces you to go out with her to a bar to celebrate the start of spring break, and to your surprise, the night takes an unexpected turn for the better when your friend calls over two people she knows from her law classes—one of whom you just so happen to have a huge crush on.
Warnings: Flirting, swearing, reader nickname (not-name specific) drinking, kissing, getting caught in the rain, smut (oral-f!receiving, Matt's mouth being a menace, praise kink, Matt being a lil' tiny touch possessive, Matt lightly biting at Reader's shoulder, p in v protected sex, aftercare)
Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, OFCs
Word Count: 6,084
“Stop staring,” Amy says as she sips her drink.
“I’m not,” you murmur as you roll your beer bottle absentmindedly on the sticky bar counter of Josie’s. How Amy even got you out tonight is beyond you. You don’t go to bars. You’re not even a big fan of going out in general. But tonight, you caved, and followed her in the rain to a dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen for cheep beer, gossip, and people watching. And it’s people watching that lead your eyes to land on one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. Matt Murdock—enter frantically smitten swoon here. He’s a law student with a voice like honey, a smile that could light up a room, and the best ass in the entire world.
Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you had to stumble into the one that he was in.
“You are,” Amy counters.
“Not.”
“Are.”
“Fine,” you sigh. “Glancing. Let me have this.”
“He’s single, you know. Broke up with the girl he was dating all last year.”
“Which means he’s not looking for anyone.”
“Or he rebounds fast and wants to get under someone. Er, have someone get under him. Hell, I don’t know what he’s in to.”
“Ames.”
“What? I’m just speculating. Just like you are ogling him.”
“Again, not ogling. Glancing. Besides, he’s way out of my league. And you know what? This, right here, is a perfect situation for me—it’s a crowded bar, he’s blind, no one here knows me or cares about me and won’t think twice of me looking in that direction. This is the only time I can pine after someone and not get flustered and weird if he looks in my direction or watch Cindy from my Brontë’s class try to show off her cleavage to get his attention. And she totally would, event to the one guy that literally can’t see it. Which brings me back exactly to my point—he can’t see us here or the undoubtedly big heart shapes my eyes are in.”
“What if his friend does?”
“He has his back to us, he won’t—.”
“FOGGY!”
“You are a major asshole, you know that?” you hiss as you whip your head around to scowl at her.
“Well, now, you can glance up close, see the finer details. Maybe accidentally touch his big arms?” she says with an innocent smile and delightfully raised eyebrows. “Or something else big.”
“Be nice.”
“I’m always nice. Besides, they’re my friends. You survive Professor Murphy’s class together, you’re blood brothers for life—Hey, Fog! Murdock!”
“I didn’t know you guys came to Josie’s,” Foggy smiles as they get close enough to where the two of you sit. “If I had, I would’ve invited you to some of our post-test outings.”
“Well, Kitty here is a lightweight, so it’s not often I get to bring her to bars. I think I finally convinced her because it’s the Friday before spring break and she doesn’t have to do homework right this moment,” Amy hums. She so knows what she is doing, and you don’t know if you should kick her in the shins or be eternally grateful for how Matt turns his head to you next.
“Kitty?” Matt smiles, and it makes your cheeks burn. He wets his lips lightly as he turns his body toward you, and you can’t help but duck your gaze and shrink in on yourself a bit.
“An unfortunate nickname that has followed me since I was four and can’t seem to shake,” you explain. “Now that I’m not four, (Y/N) just fine.”
“It’s cute, though. Maybe you’ll tell me the story.”
Fuck, why’d he have to say it like that? You’d tell him absolutely anything he’d want if he spoke to you like that again.
“Maybe,” you breathe. “Maybe not.”
The smile he flashes you is soft, dreamy, and alluring. “Someday it is, then.”
“Why don’t you two take a seat with us?” Amy asks as she swallows the last of her drink. “Have a few rounds with us. I mean, you guys know me, but let’s include (Y/N) into the fold. Probably good that you two legal goobers befriend an English major. Help you guys avoid being duped in a contract or something because of semantics or syntax or something.”
“Offense,” Foggy scoffs.
“(Y/N)’s worst is still better than your best, and you know it.”
“Down, Ames,” you chuckle, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Remember what I said about being nice?”
“Amy? Nice?” Matt smirks. “I’m afraid we haven’t earned that privilege.”
“So, how long have you known Amy?” Foggy asks as he waves Josie over for another round.
“Too long,” you chuckle, earning you a playful kick under the bar.
“Harsh,” Matt hums.
“For someone who’s basically my sister? Nah. We’ve been friends since we could toddle around,” Amy shrugs. “You two should understand that one—I mean, roommates for two years and essentially an identical course load? You’re as good as brothers.”
“Very true,” Foggy smiles as he opens his next beer. “I mean, sure, Matt got all the good looks, but I have the boyish wit and knack for sarcastic comments.”
“Seems like a pretty perfect pairing to me,” you add.
Foggy claps Matt’s back with a big smile. “See that, pal? Even the people that just meet us can see we’re a perfect match! Murdock and Nelson, taking New York City law by storm! Rolling in the money, the biggest of the bigs wanting us on retainer!”
“A real life Harvey Spector and Mike Ross,” Amy says with a playful roll of her eyes.
“Take it from a blind man, Nelson and Murdock has a better ring to it,” Matt hums as he sips his beer. “And while money is nice, there’s still something really nice about saving the world.“
“Matty the Martyr,” he sighs. “You know, (Y/N), my parents wanted me to be a butcher.”
“Fog, please, not the butcher story!” Matt begs.
“Yeah, please,” Amy seconds. “(Y/N) doesn’t need to hear it.”
“Ugh, tough crowd tonight,” he sighs. “You’ll hear about it, (Y/N) . . . someday.”
“Mildly ominous. Definitely non-threatening,” you grin before everyone starts to laugh. “So, what brings you guys out? Is this a post-test outing?”
“Nah, just a Friday night,” Matt smiles.
“Well,” Amy says, holding up her new drink. “To just a Friday night.”
You all clink the necks of the bottles together before you drink, chatting briefly before Amy playfully insults Foggy’s pool playing skills. The two of them down their drinks before they make their way to the pool table to prove one another wrong.
“I don’t know how those two are friends, sometimes,” Matt chuckles.
“Well, Amy has three brothers,” you hum. “She loves pushing people’s buttons like that.”
“And Foggy doesn’t back down from challenges like that. Although, I agree that Amy could wipe the floor with Fog at pool.”
You laugh, biting your lip from laughing too loud in the bar. “I won’t tell him you said that.”
“Eh,” he squeaks. “I think he knows where I stand on his pool skills. I mean, a blind guy can beat him.”
You feel your face grow hot with the attention he’s giving you, but it’s all very welcome as you both begin to chat about whatever comes to your minds. For how pretty he is and how flustered you get talking into to people you find attractive, conversation comes so easily with Matt. You feel like you could tell him anything. But that’s the dangerous thing—there’s no way this could work, as a friend or for whatever your brain could dream up. He’s too . . . magnetic. You’d misread something, and in the end, you’d be the one getting hurt. Besides, if you’ve learned anything from Amy, part of being an attorney is learning how to charm the pants off of whomever you’re talking to. And unfortunately for you, you’re just the girl at the bar he’s trying to schmooze only to never see again.
“(Y/N)?” he asks, trying to catch your attention.
“Hm?” you hum, snapping out of it.
His face is soft, but definitely concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Y-Yeah,” you stutter. “I was just thinking of something.”
He raises his eyebrows, silently asking if you want to talk about it, but a small pang in your chest makes you want to run away and hide in a corner.
“I don’t think pool is supposed to take that long,” you say, changing the subject and craning your neck around the bar to try and spot your friends. “I have absolutely no idea where Amy went. It looks like Foggy’s gone, too.”
Matt lets out a small, breathy laugh with a knowing grin.
“Do you want to share the joke with the class?”
“Fog’s been on my case lately about meeting new people. I wouldn’t be surprised if he conspired with Amy.”
“You know, I’d say that’s impossible, but Amy is always trying to set me up and calling me Hermit Homebody.”
“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like 'Kitty'.”
“It’s more alliterative, though.”
“So,” he hums, turning his body toward yours. “What’s the story behind Kitty?”
“You’re gonna judge.”
He holds out his pinky to you. “No judgement. Promise.”
You lick your lips before you move your hand to lock your pinky with his.
“I really loved Hello Kitty when I was little. I basically wanted to be Hello Kitty. Like, absolutely obsessed—alarm clock, bedsheets, plushies, the whole shebang. I even dressed like Hello Kitty. Yellow shirt, blue overalls or an overall dress, and a red bow in my hair, and I had Hello Kitty socks to wear with my sneakers or little Mary Jane’s. It made getting dressed easy, but it definitely annoyed my mom after a bit.”
“That’s really cute.”
“It’s really not,” you chuckle.
“It is, trust me. And, if it makes you feel any better, a lot of free public domain braille texts were legal documents; after the accident that blinded me, that’s all my dad could really get me between hospital bills, trauma therapy and recovery, and our regular bills. I read a lot of Frederick Douglas while he did boxing practice. Between reading those and my dad’s hope for me to get a good job and use my brain instead of my fists, that’s what drove me to be a lawyer. I’m not sure I would have applied to law school if not for that.”
“Wow. That’s . . . amazing. Honestly.”
His brows furrow slightly as he tilts his head down slightly. “I like to think that I’m making him proud. But I’m afraid that I’ll end up letting him down eventually. He . . . He gave me so much, he gave up so much. For me.”
You place your hand on his that’s resting atop of the bar, giving it a squeeze. “The fact that you know the extent of your dad’s sacrifices and you’re worried about letting him down means that you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.”
Matt nods and you see his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows hard. You could swear that you see a tear roll down his cheek, but you’re distracted when he turns his hand over to hold onto yours better, lacing his fingers in yours.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, taking a deep breath. “Hearing that . . . it means a lot.”
“It’s just the truth as I see it.”
“Do you want to get out of here?” Matt hums as he turns his head toward you. “We could grab a bite, just walk around.”
“No ulterior motives?”
“Not unless you want me to have ulterior motives.”
You look at him, your heart beating so loudly in your chest, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Okay,” he breathes. “Then no ulterior motives.”
“I’m not opposed to stopping at the soft pretzel cart that’s a few blocks over, though.”
He gives you a small smile.
“Something funny?”
“Beer and pretzels,” he hums.
“Har har.”
“C’mon,” he says with a little jerk of his head. “Lead the way.”
Putting some money on the counter to cover your drinks, you slide off of the barstool, your hand still in Matt’s as he mimics your movement before unfurling his cane. You both walk in comfortable silence, recalling little anecdotes from your childhoods as you stroll along the route.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you laugh.
“I’m not,” he says with a big smile. “I got so much hell from the nuns for it. Father Lantom put on a little show and was a little mad about it, yeah, but the ‘talking to’ that he gave me was about the Yankees game. In fairness, I honestly did worse when I was younger—probably took years off of all of their lives. Probably still do, when they think too hard about it.”
“Gosh,” you say with another laugh. “You’re such a daredevil.”
“Hey, I’ve turned out just fine. For the most part.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a point. You seem pretty alright.”
“Pretty alright?” he croons. “I’ll take it. Any pointers for how I can increase my ranking, though?”
“Well, if I told you, it’d be too easy,” you smirk as you approach your destination. “Heya, Boyd.”
“Kitty!” he beams. “Long time no see! You’re usual?”
“That’d be great. School’s been busy.”
“You know she’s in Columbia?” he starts to tell Matt. “Smartest girl I know.”
“She is amazing,” Matt says, and you feel your cheeks burn hot.
“Matt’s one of my classmates,” you explain.
“Ah, so you’re a smart one, too. Kitty here is one of a kind—don’t do anything stupid to loose this one.”
“I’ll do my best not to,” he smiles.
“D’you want anything with yours?”
“Mustard, please.”
Boyd hands Matt his pretzel, but puts his hand up when you try to pay.
“Not tonight, Kitty,” he says. “My treat.”
“Don’t be silly, Boyd,” you counter. “You know our rule, only on birthdays.”
“Yeah, but you included me on your date. I feel real special. All warm and fuzzy like.”
Your cheeks burn even hotter when he says “date”— you appreciate that Boyd thinks you’re in the same league.
“Please?” you try.
“Alright. But you’re getting your change back. This one, she always tries to scurry away before I can give her her change back!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t escape,” Matt chuckles, his hand resting on your waist, the gentle touch sending goosebumps up your spine.
“Atta boy. You know, I like this one. He ain’t that bad. Here, Kitty. Have a nice night, you two!”
“Night, Boyd!” you smile.
“Nice to meet you,” Matt adds. Once you’re out of earshot, he asks, “How come he can call you Kitty?”
“Because Boyd has known me since I was six,” I chuckle before I take another bite of my pretzel. “You’ve gotta earn it.”
“Oh, so now you’ll let me earn the chance to call you Kitty?”
“If you play your cards right.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
“You seem like the kind of guy that likes challenges.”
He grins and raises his eyebrows as if conceding to your point before taking a bite of is pretzel, licking up the mustard at the corner of his mouth. The absolutely obscene thoughts that cross your mind when he does that would even make a sinner in church blush—but also appreciate the sentiment. You finish your pretzels quickly, continue to walk aimlessly around and talk about whatever comes to your mind.
“Wow,” you hum as you look at a clock on the other side of the park we’re walking through.
“What?” he hums.
“It’s almost three.”
“Seriously? No.” You feel Matt’s arms shift, and you watch his fingers slide over the face of his watch. “Shit. It’s almost three. I didn’t think we were talking for that long.”
“Me either. Not that I’m complaining about it.”
“Neither am I.”
“Maybe we’re just really slow walkers?”
Matt laughs. “It is a really nice night.”
There’s a comfortable silence before you speak next. “I don’t do this, normally. Go out—go out to a bar, no less—walk with guys aimlessly around the city.”
“Tell people the story of your nickname? Or bring them to meet your pretzel godfather?” he teases gently, and you chuckle softly and nod.
“Definitely not either of those.” You take in a deep breath before you continue. “Something feels different tonight, though, and I like it. And I only started liking it when you and Foggy joined us at our table.”
“Yeah?” he says so softly you almost don’t hear it.
“Yeah,” you confirm.
“If it makes you feel any better, I like it, too.”
Your gaits slow before Matt turns into you, a relaxed, dreamy look on his face. It’s not a face you’ve seen him flash the girls on campus—the cocky, over-confident swagger that’s usually there replaced with something almost dreamy and entirely genuine. Your heart starts to race as he leans in, but you both freeze in place when the sky opens up and you get caught in a sudden downpour. You squeak and he lets out a soft grunt before Matt hand grabs yours, and you rush toward the sidewalk. You raise your hand to wave down an oncoming taxi, and as you both slide in, Matt gives his address to the cabbie.
The ride is short, but it’s definitely better than making the trip in the pouring rain. When the cabbie pulls to the curb, Matt hands him the fare and the tip, opening the door and sliding out first, waiting for you to follow. He uses his large frame to try and shield you from the rain as you run into the lobby of his dorm, tracking in puddles into the elevator.
“Would Foggy mind if I crash here for the night? I mean, what’s left of it,” you ask, your arms hugging yourself as you shiver in front of his door.
“You don’t need to worry about him. He’s staying with his family for the first half of break,” Matt says as he slides the key into the lock, leading you into the very nice dorm apartment. “It’s just us here.”
“Ah,” you hum softly, looking around the space. “I wish my dorm looked like this. I think I chose the wrong major.”
Matt chuckles softly as he moves about the space. “Well, each year we get better housing choices, and the ADA complaint dorms were updated a few years ago. Foggy just reaps the rewards of being my friend.”
“Well, it is very nice. Definitely decorated by boys, though.”
Matt chuckles softly, walking into what you assume is his room before coming back out in pajamas, a folded set of clothes in his extended hand.
“Thanks,” you smile as you take the sweatshirt and sweatpants out of his hands.
“Can’t have you be chilly,” he hums. “Let’s face it—Amy would kill me if I let you catch a cold.”
“You, Foggy, and then me. In that order,” you laugh. “You know, I honestly thought it was done raining for the night.”
“I’m just glad we caught a cab. And that you let me pay.”
“Well, you gave them the address to your dorm. Seemed right that you foot the bill.”
Matt chuckles as you turn to side off your wet clothes and put on his fluffy sweater and sweats. Yes, it feels a little odd to change in front of him, but it’s not like he can see you in your underwear, and you need to get these wet clothes off. And if tonight has taught you anything, Matt is someone you feel comfortable and safe around.
“Let’s hope these dry by the morning,” you say, folding your soaked clothes and putting them over the stool in the kitchen area.
“You can keep them as long as you need. Something tells me I’ll get them back eventually.”
You blush deeply. “In a timely manner. Promise.”
“I’m not gonna force you out when the sun comes up, you know,” Matt continues. “We can go down and throw your clothes into the dryer in the morning. Maybe go grab breakfast after they’re out.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Want to go to the living room?”
“No ulterior motives?” you smirk.
He laughs, and you swear you just made him to blush. “No. Not unless you want there to be,” he responds.
“I don’t think I’d be opposed to some.”
Matt slides off his glasses, placing them on the kitchen table. His eyes sparkle in the moonlight coming through the window, taking a half step forward and placing his hands on your waist. You lean in to help close the space between your bodies, and when his lips finally meet yours, you feel your heart skip a beat as electricity shoots through your veins. You slide your hands up his body to cradle is face as he pulls you in even closer. The kiss is passionate, tender, and everything that a kiss should be. When he pulls back, you’re breathless and dizzy in all the best ways. His forehead rests on yours, and you desperately wish he’d lean in for another kiss.
“Are those acceptable motives?” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours.
“Mm,” you hum. “Very.”
He smiles, leaning in for another kiss, the force of the embrace knocking the back of your legs against the sofa. You pull him into you, knocking the pair of you down on the couch, his body crushing yours in the most glorious of ways for a moment until he can position himself better on the furniture. His hands have a firm grip on your body, sending wave after wave of chills up your spine as you chase his lips for more kisses. One of his large hands cradles the back of your head, holding you closer so he can gain better access to the kiss, and you realize his glasses aren’t perched on his face anymore. You don’t even know when he would’ve have a chance to take them off. But do you really care?
No. No you don’t.
As you make out, Matt slides you onto his lap, giving you a bit more leverage as you embrace. You lips mirror one another’s, curving up into smiles. You take in a sharp breath as you feel his hands slide under the sweater and up your back, the simple action sending goosebumps up your spine. You moan into the embrace and lean forward to deepen it, accidentally nipping his lower lip between yours. It elicits a strong response from Matt, his fingers digging into your skin, sure to leave little bruises as souvenirs before moving up to tug at the hair at the nape of your neck. His fingers should have their own insurance policy, because wherever they trace on your body feels like a million dollars—the warmth, the strength, the grip—goes straight to the apex of your thighs. Firm, relaxing, and downright sinful.
You pull back from the kiss, Matt’s swollen lips chasing yours as you lean away, turning your head to yawn.
“Am I putting you to sleep, sweetheart?” he smirks, softly kissing your neck before moving so his face points toward yours.
“You’re definitely relaxing me, that’s for sure,” you tell him as you look back at his face. “It’s just been a really long week.”
“We can stop if you want.”
“You stop, and I’m telling Amy and Foggy.”
“Oh, well, we can’t have that.”
“No, we can’t.”
With more smiles, you lean back into the kiss. Matt’s grip is firm on your waist before sliding his hands down and over the globes of your ass, moving to your upper thighs before lifting you up. You’re too focused on his lips to try and watch where he’s taking you, even though you have a good idea. You moan into his mouth as you feel Matt lay you down on his mattress.
“At least if you get a little too tired to keep going, you can fall asleep in a bed,” he whispers before he starts to kiss your neck.
“So kind of you.”
“I try.” He presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Can I keep going?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
Matt flashes you a devilish grin before leaning back in, his hands sliding up under the borrowed sweatshirt tracing the curves of your body.
“You can take it off, you know,” you murmur against his lips. “It’s your shirt, after all.”
He hums in delight, doing as you ask and ridding the fabric from your body and pushing it to the side. “You’re chilly now,” he hums kissing all over the exposed skin, pulling soft moans from your throat.
It’s your turn to slither your hands up against his rock-hard body under his clothes, lightly raking your fingernails along his skin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“Then show me.”
Matt’s lips slot back over yours, tasting every ounce of your mouth that he can. He pulls back, whipping his shirt off. You’re unable to prevent your jaw from dropping when you see his exposed chest, a little wooden cross hanging from a cord around his neck a strong contrast from his fair skin and rippling muscles. It doesn’t hang too long, the space between the two of you closed just as swiftly as it was created before his hands deftly undoes your bra. Matt’s hands slide the straps down your arms, tossing it to the side before his large hands palm at the fleshy mounds, his hips inadvertently beginning to roll against your legs.
“Mm,” you hum as you start to mark his neck. “I’d say we’re moving fast, but, I like where we’re moving. Seems like you do, too.”
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Let me lay you down and make you feel good, angel.”
“Mm, ‘angel’,” you smirk as you pull him on top of you. “Sounds better than ‘Kitty’. Better not be calling any other girls that.”
“It’ll be just for you. Swear.”
“Good.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna try and stop earning the right to call you Kitty, though.”
“Consider it earned. Can even call me Kitten. Now, please tell me you have some condoms here.”
“Mm, I do. But, the thing is, that pretzel left me hungry, angel. I need to eat a little more.”
Your brows furrow before Matt holds your face in his hands, kissing you deeply. He trails his kisses down the column of your neck, moving lower with each embrace, down your chest and torso until his lips reach where your skin and his sweatpants meet.
“Is it okay if I pull these down, sweetheart?” he asks, pressing feather-soft kisses on your stomach. “Can I kiss you there? Can I taste you, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” you breathe a little too quickly, moving your fingers into his soft hair. “Please.”
He smiles, kissing your belly button before curling his fingers round the waistband of the sweats and underwear and sliding them down your legs. His strong hands gently part your legs, exposing yourself to him, his soft, pouty lips kissing back and forth along your inner thighs until his nose brushes the slick folds. A soft moan escapes your throat, so quiet that you almost don’t hear it. As soon as it leaves your lips, you swear you hear Matt growl a little before diving in between your legs. This time, you moan louder, your back arching off of the bed and your fingers clutching the sheets.
“Matt!” you squeak. His hands are firm on your hips, keeping his face buried in your core, tasting and savoring you like you’re the sweetest of desserts. Your chest heaves as you squirm against him, but each movement of your body only spurs him on to hold you tighter. He hums into your pussy, the vibrations working all the way up your body.
“M-Matt,” you stutter, feeling yourself get wound tightly as he works diligently between your legs. “Matt, I—oh, fuck!”
Matt just hums, keeping pace and enjoying the taste of you on his tongue. You continue to whimper, whine, and squirm, biting your lip harder as you get closer to your release. You suck in a sharp breath when you feel Matt pull away from you, his face in your direction, his mouth and chin shiny with your slick.
“Don’t hold back, angel. I’ve got you,” he pants. “Make those pretty noises for me. It’s just you and me, okay? Don’t worry about if anyone else can hear. It’s just you and me.”
“Okay,” you say breathily with a frantic nod. “Okay.”
“Good girl.”
You could cum with those two words, and the quick twitch at the corner of his mouth tells me that he knows it, too. With a lick of his lips, he dives back down without missing a beat, sliding two thick fingers into you, gently pumping them and curling his fingers to squish against the perfect spot that makes your vision go spotty. You let out your loudest cry of the night, the sheer volume hurting your throat a little. It elicits a deep growl from Matt, and with one more lick, you’re quaking and unraveling on his face. Little tremors continue to jolt through your body as Matt works to lick up every last drop of you before pressing a soft kiss on your swollen nub and kissing his way back up your body.
You lean up and crash your lips into his, desperate for him. Matt eagerly kisses you back, letting you taste yourself, exploring how you mix with him.
“Are you up for more?” he pants as he pulls back, trying to smooth down your tousled hair.
“Please,” you say, the faintest hint of a whine in your voice. “I’m ready.”
Matt smiles, pecking your lips quickly before leaning back and taking his sweats off. Your eyes involuntarily widen when you see just how big he is. If tonight with Matt hasn’t ruined other men for you yet, the feeling of him inside you and how it will undoubtedly linger for days will.
“You okay?” he pants as he works to slide on the condom.
“I’m doing great,” you swallow, trying to remain coherent through the bliss.
His laugh is like warm tea with honey.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
With the condom firmly on, he leans forward to kiss you slowly. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Matt kisses you again, adjusting the pillows behind you as he lines himself up with your entrance. He places his hands on you gently, forehead resting on yours, before carefully starting to slide in. You bite your lip as your eyes flutter shut, your head suddenly becoming too heavy as you let it roll to the side and rest against his neck.
“Matt,” you breathe.
“Prefect,” he pants as he slowly pushes forward. “Perfect.”
“M-Matt,” you whimper as you stretch around him. “Big.”
“Do you need me to stop?” he whispers. “Does it hurt?”
“N-No. ’s great. So great.”
“Say the word if you need me to stop, okay? If it’s too much?”
“Okay.”
Your faces turn toward one another, and for the briefest of moments, Matt’s eyes lock onto yours. You feel your heart skip a beat and jump up right into your throat. This is ridiculous—tonight is the first time you’ve actually met him rather than stare at him and wish from a distance, and it’s like your entire universe is on its head. Matt tenderly leans forward, his lips on yours, fueled with a softer passion than what has dictated your embraces for the night. The roll of his hips is slow, and you feel everything ten times over. You hold onto Matt as if your life depends on it, and you let him work as he marks up your neck and shoulder with little bites.
“Don’t stop,” you plea. “Don’t stop. Matt, please don’t stop!”
Your pleas and whimpers spur Matt to pick up his pace. As he does so, his own soft moans grow louder in your ear, and it drives you wild. The springs of the mattress move from a quiet creak to an all consuming squeak, perfectly punctuated by the headboard hitting the wall.
“Matt!” you cry out, pulling probably harder than you should at his hair.
“Such a good pussy,” he grunts. “All for me. You’re so good for me, angel. Feel so perfect.”
“Please!”
“Hm?”
“Fuck, Matt! You’re—oooohhhh!”
“Perfect f’me, angel. Such a good girl. My good girl.”
The sound of your slapping skin adds to the erotic symphony in the room, sweat quickly lining your bodies. You whimper as you nuzzle into him, muttering incoherent sentences as his pelvis rubs against your sensitive core, building you up to knock you over with intense pleasure. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and pull a deep growl from the back of his throat. He nips at the sensitive skin behind your ear before slotting his lips over yours.
“Matt,” you whimper, really drawing out the vowel in his name. “Matt, ‘m gonna cum.”
“Let it out,” he encourages. “Cum for me. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good. Let me hear you, angel.”
Matt kisses the sweet spot on your neck and pulls a needy whine from you. A stuttered whine pulls from your lips as your eyes pinch shut and you claw your fingers into Matt’s back. You cry out at the top of your lungs as a second wave of pleasure washes over you. With Matt in you, dragging against every right spot, it feels so much better than with his mouth. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and you cry out in pleasure even louder. The pace of Matt’s hips move even faster, albeit at a more unsteady rhythm with an increased sense of urgency as he tries to soothe the sting of his teeth. His moans turn into grunts, a delight to your ears.
“Harder,” you beg. “Harder, Matt.”
You feel Matt nod his head against yours, doing as you ask, his lips brushing faint kisses against your cheek. You cry out once more, Matt’s hips pulling one more orgasm from you as he hits his high, spilling into his condom with punctuated thrusts.
Your breathing is heavy as your bodies still, sweat clinging to your skin and soaking the sheets. You chuckle softly as Matt places gentle kisses along your neck, his nose tickling you just so before pulling himself off of you and sliding out. He does it slowly, and you moan softly from the sensitivity and the loss of him. He ties off the condom, shuffling out of bed to throw it away. Matt briefly rounds the corner, coming back with a towel in hand. Without a single word, he carefully spreads your legs, gently cleaning the mess between your thighs. His lips softly kiss your knees and thighs has he works, and you can’t help but smile. He tosses the cloth to the side, it landing perfectly on the edge of his hamper. Matt slides back into bed, wrapping his arms around you and letting you adjust in his hold, kissing your forehead.
“What?” he whispers so softly you want to melt.
“You have freckles,” you whisper back just as quietly as you look up at him. “They’re a little hard to see, but they’re there.”
“Yeah?” he says with a tender smile.
“Mm.” Carefully, you move your fingers against the skin on his cheek, tracing over the faint constellation on his fair skin.
“What?” he whispers again with a little smirk.
“How do you know I’m thinking?”
“Call it a hunch.”
You smile softly. “It’s just . . . I wasn’t planning on coming out tonight. I don’t go out. I don’t go to bars. I don’t do this. Any of this.”
“I think you mentioned that earlier,” he hums with a cheeky smile. God, his voice is like a warm blanket that you just want to snuggle up in.
“It just felt right, with you. I’m really glad I came out tonight.”
“Can I let you in on a secret?” You give him a hum in response. He pulls you closer and presses a long, slow kiss to your lips. “I’m really, really glad you came out, too.”
how about our baby Matt Murdock + "X pulls Y in for a kiss by their necktie"?
I hope your brain is nicer to you soon xx
Hi darling! I had an absolute field day with this one, thank you!
I'm working on the brain thing, but it's a slow journey. We'll get there eventually though! 🤎
lavender haze
Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Summary: Matt comes home late, soaking wet from the rain outside, just as you're taking a bath. It leaves you with a question you're a little hesitant about, but he encourages you to ask it anyway.
Wordcount: 1.5k
Contains: Past jealously, mentions of fingering. Mainly just soft fluff 🧡
The rain seems unrelentless today, pouring down from the moment you opened your eyes this morning, continuing all throughout the day with no end in sight. It pounds against the windows, pelting razor sharp drops as if it was an act of vengeance, trying to prove a point to an uncaring world.
You’re standing in front of the one reason you fought tooth and nail for this apartment: the massive bathtub, currently filled with water so hot the steam caused the mirror to fog up as it filled. The bath bomb you lowered in turned the water a lovely soft lavender, filling the air with a citrusy scent you can’t quite place.
The wick of the candle you’re lighting crackles in protest before a small flame settles on the neatly trimmed wick. You carefully place it back on the vanity, a fair distance away from your towel and other things, the thought of an accidental fire always an anxious thought in the back of your mind. Almost ready to finally get in, you flick the light off as you move to hang your robe off the hook on the door, leaving the bathroom to be lit by the candle alone.
The water is scalding and you bite back a satisfied hiss as you lower the first leg into the water, sitting down on the edge of the tub as you acclimate, barely needing a minute before you fully sink into the tub.
A wave of ease washes over you as you close your eyes, letting the warm water melt the tight muscles in your back, there thanks to the stress that came along with a day full of meetings. The sound of the rain is a welcome accompaniment to your winddown, something you seek out as your ambience of choice for a variety of things. It’s something Matt lovingly likes to poke at, the teasing endless when you once jokingly said it feels like I’m a little mouse reading under a mushroom. It's called escapism, Matthew. The inevitable reply had poked fun at the subway rats that he could hear scuttling about, telling you with a completely straight face that they strictly listened to either smooth jazz or Eminem, no in between.
The delivery had been so stone-faced that you paused for a second before picking your book up and continuing reading where you left off.
A few minutes pass before you open your eyes again, moving to reach for the tablet you placed on the stool next to the tub, hesitant between the choice of listening to the audio book you’re slowly making your way through, or rewatching an episode of New Girl you’ve already seen more times than you’d like to admit.
The decision is made for you as you hear the front door unlock. There’s only one person with a key that would let themselves in, that person being Matt. He’d called earlier in the day and mentioned he’d be late, no guaranteed timeline as to when that would be. When those words are uttered, it usually means pulling an all-nighter, the case they’re working on so complex it eats into his Daredevil hours. In a rare exception, it wasn’t as late as you thought it would be: it was around eight when you started setting everything up, something that usually took no more than thirty minutes before you could actually take your bath.
You pause when you don’t hear the door close immediately behind him, straining to hear what’s going on, Matt’s voice inaudible compared the shrill voice of your neighbour that always seemed to be mysteriously running into him in the hallway.
You had been snarky about it once, when hormones had been wrecking your body mid-period and you ran out of the patience that Matt seemed to have in spades sometimes. He calmly explained that she had a crush on him, her heartbeat and breathing telling on her, and that she definitely did not run into him by accident, but rather lingered near the door and just conveniently went to get her mail just to talk to him.
He proceeded to give you an orgasm that was so mind blowing that it still lingers in your mind, all as was he sat behind you on the couch with an unwavering steadiness to him, letting you know he wasn’t going anywhere.
That doesn’t deter her from trying to get her way, so you close your eyes again, slipping down in the water until your shoulders are submerged, revelling in the warmth as you leave them to their conversation.
“Sweetheart?”
“In here.” you reply, eyes still closed. “Bathroom.”
You hear his footsteps approach before he softly knocks on the door. “Can I come in?”
You hum in reply, opening your eyes as the door creaks open and Matt slips in.
“Hi,” you smile in amusement as he comes into view. Though barely visible in the dim light, you can see his hair is slicked back, plastered to his head by the downpour outside. “’s bit wet outside, huh?”
He snorts, leaning against the vanity with his arms crossed. “Only a little. Took a cab, so managed to stay mostly dry.”
Part of you stills feel like it’s intrusive to ask how Matt experiences the world, though he had been honest about it when things started to get serious between you two. You still struggled to understand what was too much, what he could tune out. That line was something you still toed, something he apparently picks up on.
“You’re worried,” he says. “Anxious. Did anything happen at work today?”
“Nooo,” you breathe, sliding down a little further, the water silently sloshing. You hesitate again, not sure about what you want to ask.
“Just because I can hear your heartbeat, doesn’t mean I’m a mind reader, sweetheart,” he says, taking his glasses off before placing them on top of your towel. “It sounds like a panicked rabbit.”
“Have you ever seen a rabbit before?”
“Stop deferring the question,” he says, no malice behind the words.
“I wasn’t aware we're in court, mister Murdock,” you smile at the seriousness on his face. You can see the faint outline of a bruise on his cheekbone with his glasses off, his scruff a little heavier than usual. “Nothing happened at work. A question popped into my head and I’m not sure it’s rude or not. That’s all.”
He hums quietly and pushes himself off the vanity, taking off his suit jacket before sitting down on the edge of the tub. A hand comes up and softly brushes your cheek as he smiles at you.
“The fact that you even consider the fact that whatever comes into your mind might offend me, says a lot. But it won’t.”
You pause and look at your boyfriend, whose unfocussed gaze rests just off your face, his thumb brushing across you chin, body language relaxed and open.
Sometimes you still struggle to believe you got this lucky.
“I…” you start, searching for the right words. “The rain. Does it like… mess with your ability to do your thing?”
His face breaks into a bright smile at the question. “That was your question?”
“Yeah.”
He chuckles. “A little. Depends on how tired I am,” he says honestly. “It’s harder to hear my surroundings, it gets muddled. Takes more energy to listen and pick up what I need, leave what I don’t.”
You smile and sit up, pulling your knees to your chest as you do. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
You shrug. “Answering my question.”
His hand wanders to one of your exposed knees, tracing circles with his index finger. “Don’t think that’s something that warrants a thanks, sweetheart.”
“Oh?”
“You can ask me whatever, baby. Any time, any day.”
Your heart swells in your chest as you look at Matt, who smiles at you in reply, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners.
You don’t say anything, but instead reach for his tie and pull him closer until his breath ghosts over your face. It halts, stuttering in his throat as he waits for what’s going to happen. You grin, twisting the tie around your hand, the other coming up to his cheek as you place a gentle kiss on his lips.
“In that case, wanna get in?” you ask, toying with the silk fabric in your hand, the other scraping alongside his jaw. He looks fully content, a step away from purring, his eyes hazy as he leans into your touch.
“I think there’s something else I’d rather do,” he murmurs, the hand that was leaning on your knee sliding down into the water, disappearing between your thights.
“Wh—Oh,” you gasp, jerking at unexpected sensation, soaking his pantleg in the process. “Shit, yeah, okay. Or we do that. Jesus.”
He grins, giving you a quick kiss before getting up, moving your towel onto the stool next to the tub and taking his exit.
“See you in a bit, sweetheart.”
You groan, sinking back down into the water, rubbing your face as you do, knowing there’s a long night ahead of you, curtesy of Matt Murdock.
three-for-three y'all, the most active i've been on this site in MONTHS and i apologise for that, but i'm getting the ball rolling again. publishing old works and new works, across a range of fandoms, so hopefully y'all find a little something that floats your boat MWAH
Beneath the flickering glow of delicate chandeliers, you glanced around the room, holding tight to your flute of champagne to hide the way your hands trembled. Despite being Matt’s plus-one to this gala, which you were beginning to think was just an excuse for the city’s court officials to get together and flash their money about in the form of fine suits and sparkling jewellery, you’d been avoiding him all night.
It hadn’t been easy, considering he could just follow the distinct scent of your perfume merged with the scent of him, and be at your side in seconds. For the most part, you’d spent your time cowering in the bathroom, texting Karen to soothe your nerves, even though she’d only been a few feet away.
Karen <3, 7:26pm: Is everything okay? Where are you?
Tapping away at the screen, you’d sent off a quick message, giving away your pathetic hiding place. In a matter of seconds, the stunning blonde had slipped through the bathroom door like a shadow, wrapped in a dress of glimmering, black silk that clung to her body like a second skin.
“I fucked up,” you admitted, biting down on your tongue to keep a nervous giggle from slipping out. Karen frowned, placing her hands on your shoulders.
“Did you and Matt have a fight? Is that why he’s out there clenching his jaw so hard he looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel?”
Unable to contain your laugh, you hid your face in your hands as warmth crept up your cheeks. Chewing on a fingernail, you could barely look at Karen as you spoke.
“Not a fight… I may or may not have teased him to the point of cruelty before we got here.”
The sound of Matt’s shallow breaths, bordering on whines, echoed in your mind as you recalled the way he’d practically shattered like porcelain in your hands as you trailed sinful kisses down his neck and along his collarbones, whispering filthy promises against his flushed skin.
Tugging at his belt, you slipped your hand into his pants. His cock was heavy and hard in your hand, and Matt hissed through his teeth, hips bucking involuntarily, as you ran your thumb over the tip.
But then you’d pulled away, glancing at the clock as you stood, smoothing down your dress.
“We’ve got to go now, we can’t be late.”
Karen’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening, as her lips twisted into a knowing smile.
“Oh, honey, I can’t save you from this one,” the blonde held out her hand to you, red-painted nails gleaming at the end of her slender fingers, a silver bracelet dangling loosely at her wrist. “But I can guarantee a very, very good night is on the horizon.”
You grasped Karen’s hand, holding onto it as though it were a life-raft, and let her drag you back out into the glitz and glamour. Stumbling slightly, Karen pulled you to her side when you reached the table you’d been avoiding, she plucked her purse from the back of her chair. Matt was already facing you, head tilted slightly, red-tinted glasses hiding his sinfully beautiful eyes. A muscle flickered in his jaw and it sent a thrill through your body, sending a tendril of warmth straight to your core.
“I’m gonna call a cab, okay?” Karen was explaining to Matt and Foggy, “一just not feeling well.” You weren’t paying attention, not when Matt’s tongue had darted out to wet his lips and you somehow knew that he was doing it to taunt you, that he could somehow taste the change in your mood, in your body.
Matt stood slowly, straightening the cuffs of his suit jacket, and grabbed his folded cane from the table. Adjusting his glasses, he came to your side, slipping his hand around your waist. “I can handle this, thanks, Karen. I’ll see you both at the office tomorrow.”
After bidding a few very important-looking people farewell, Matt led you outside. You flagged down a cab with a shaky hand, trying to keep your cool, even though the grip Matt had on your waist was burning through you. His hand brushed the curve of your ass as he helped you into the backseat and you swallowed a gasp.
The ride back to Matt’s apartment was fifteen minutes of torture. Your thighs had started to hurt from how hard you were pressing them together, and Matt… God, he just kept that insufferably smug smirk on his face the whole way, his hands innocently resting in his lap. You weren’t sure which was affecting you more; him touching you or him not touching you. Either way, you were practically squirming in the seat, staring out the window to try and distract yourself.
This was only the beginning of the payback, you were sure of it. But you still had a little trick up your sleeve, well, under your dress… Immediately, you tried to picture Matt’s reaction when he discovered your little secret; a gift, of sorts, for him, that you’d bought on whim last week. Chewing on your bottom lip, you bit back a grin.
Matt, sensing a change within you, the scent of your arousal heavier in the small space, so much so that it almost made his head spin, turned to you.
“What on earth are you thinking about, Angel?” His voice was a low rasp that set a flurry of hummingbirds free in your stomach.
“Oh, nothing. Just stuff.” Casually, you laid your hand over one of his where they laid in his lap, subtly brushing his crotch with your knuckles. Matt inhaled through gritted teeth, fighting the desire to pull you into his lap and have his way with you.
Only two more blocks, he thought, and then he could have you, taste you, fuck you. Ruin you.
But there was something you weren’t telling him, something you were hiding, and he was going to make it his mission to find out what it was.
Finally, finally, the cab pulled up outside the familiar apartment complex, and you practically threw yourself out of the car. Even though Matt could’ve taken the stairs by twos and been at his door in seconds, he took it slow, dragging it out even though it was killing him. But it was killing you, too, and the barely audible whines you let out everytime he paused to adjust his coat or brush a speck of dust off his pants made it all worth it. He couldn’t wait to have you under him, or on top of him; he didn’t particularly care. As long as he was deep inside you.
When the door came into view you almost sighed in relief, snagging the keys from Matt’s pocket before he had a chance to stop you. Unlocking the door, you kicked it open and tugged Matt inside, not caring if he thought you were desperate. You were desperate, and the second the door shut, you shoved Matt against it and your lips found his neck.
Placing a line of frenzied kisses along his jawline, down his throat, you tugged at his tie until it came loose in your hands. Wrapping your hand in the strip of dark fabric, you pulled him closer and leaned up to kiss his lips. But he pulled away.
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s cute that you think you’re going to run this,” he whispered, nipping at your nose. “But after the stunt you pulled earlier? I don’t think so.”
You might’ve whimpered, or groaned, or straight-up cried, if Matt hadn’t reached out and grabbed the straps of your dress. With the gentleness of a dove's feathers, he slid them down your arms, pushing the bodice down until you were bare from your stomach upwards, the tapered bodice clinging to your waist to keep the dress from pooling on the ground. You’d forgone a bra when you’d gotten dressed, and you were thankful for one less obstacle as Matt stepped closer, cupping one of your breasts, his thumb brushing over the hardened nipple. A shiver rocketed down your spine and you sighed, caving in to the touch. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, and Matt walked away, passing through the living room and into the bedroom without another word.
Leaving your shoes by the door, you hiked up the skirts of your dress and followed him like a hound on a scent, not caring that the nylon stockings you wore snagged a little on the floorboards. Jesus Christ, you wanted him, and he knew it.
“Matty,” you whispered when you entered the room and found him by the window, haloed by orange light from the street below. He’d discarded his suit jacket and button-up, they were in a pile on the floor, and stood with his back to you. For a moment, you just watched him, gazing at the scars on his back, the way his muscles shifted with each breath he took. It was a sight you’d never get sick of; Matt Murdock, in all his rugged glory, despite the weight of guilt and shame he always seemed to carry, despite convincing himself that he wasn’t worth anything at all to anybody, was truly a beautiful man. A man that you loved more than you’d ever loved anybody before.
When he turned to face you, glasses gone, you gulped; in his hands, still, was his tie.
“Take off your dress” he said, footsteps silent as he approached you. You did as you were told without argument, shimmying the fabric down until it dropped to the floor in a puddle of soft silk and chiffon. He was close, so close that your bare chest brushed against his as you took a deep breath. Matt shuddered at the contact, his stern resolve slipping momentarily as the warmth of your body seeped into him.
“Give me your hands,” he leaned in to mutter in your ear, letting the tie dangle from his hands.
You were about to hold up your wrists, but you paused. It was time, this was the perfect moment to drop the bomb, to show him what you’d been hiding all night.
“Wait.”
Matt’s head dipped to the side, gaze fixed just to the left of you. Noticing the quickening pace of your heart, he cupped your chin in his hands, tilting your head upwards as though to inspect you. “What is it? You’ve been keeping secrets, haven’t you?” His lips quirked up into a smile. “That’s why you acted the way you did, you had a plan.”
As usual, Matt saw straight through you, but he still didn’t know exactly what was going on. For a few seconds longer, you’d have the upper hand.
With a gentleness comparable to moth's wings, you grabbed his wrists. Matt resisted for a moment as the balance of who, exactly, was in control shifted, but gave in. Stepping back a little to allow room to move, the backs of your legs hit the bed, and you placed Matt’s hands on your waist so he could feel the intricate lace and little ruffles that clung to your figure.
Immediately, his nimble fingers skirted along the fabric, feeling each clasp and detail, snapping the waistband against your skin a few times. “What is this,” he practically hissed, lowering to his knees to further inspect the unfamiliar lingerie. He pressed a few kisses to the ridges of lace, slowly moving his hands lower, lower, to where thin strips of elastic attached to delicate clasps that, in turn, held up the dainty nylon stockings you were wearing.
“It’s a garter belt. Got it made special, just for you.” Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you fought to keep your breathing steady as Matt slipped his fingers beneath the belt to pull your underwear down your legs; a simple, black lace pair that paled in comparison to everything else. Matt had to unlatch the stockings to get them all the way down, but once they were off, he fixed the stockings again and stuffed your panties in his pocket.
“For me?” His voice soft as sin, and hands twice as gentle as he pushed you onto the bed and spread your thighs so he could kneel between them.
“Mhm,” was all you managed to get out as Matt leaned forward, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, grazing his teeth over it. Your next words came out in a harried gasp as Matt slid a hand all the way up your thigh, beneath the lace, and pressed his thumb to your clit. “That’s not even the─ oh fuck─ the best part.”
“Pray tell,” he muttered, more focused on drawing tight circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb, revelling in the noises he coaxed from you and the way you tried to clamp your thighs together. His mouth placed a trail of kisses from the underside of your breast, over your ribcage, until Matt was practically leaning into your lap, nipping at your hip as he pressed a finger into you, pumping slowly. You were so wet for him, practically dripping, and Matt nearly groaned at the feeling.
“It’s the same colour─ Jesus Christ─”
“He won’t save you from this,” Matt absentmindedly chimed in, but you barely heard it.
“─same colour as your suit. I asked to have it made like that specifically, a garter belt and a lace bralette. Had to compare colour swatches and everything.” Unable to stop yourself from rambling, barely able to string two coherent thoughts together because Matt had slipped a second finger inside you, you bit down on your knuckle to shut yourself up.
At the same time, Matt’s head whipped up, unsure if he heard you right. “Really, Angel?”
So you could focus, he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth to suck the wetness off them as though that wouldn’t be equally as distracting. Cupping his jaw in your hands, you pulled his face toward you and pressed your lips to his. Matt’s tongue instantly swiped at the seam of your lips and you opened for him.
“Mhm,” you murmured against his lips. “Got my own little Daredevil suit, but you’re the only one I wear it for. I’ve been saving it for tonight.”
In Matt’s mind, everything clicked into place. That’s why you’d teased him so much earlier, leaving him achingly, embarrassingly hard, so he’d be wound up and flustered so you could reveal this, this magnificence, and he’d be completely at your mercy.
“Oh, you devilish thing,” he growled, slowly climbing onto the bed to allow you time to shuffle back. And then he was on top of you, straddling your hips but careful not to put his entire weight on you, his thighs strained against the tightness of his perfectly tailored pants. With Matt’s arms on either side of your head, his silver crucifix dangling only an inch from your lips, you were caged in. Matt was everywhere.
“I fell for your wicked, wicked games,” he was saying, and then he’d rolled to the side, hauling you with him, until you were on top. “So play them.”
The full meaning of words didn’t hit you until he held out his hand, tie hanging limply from his fingers. You hadn’t been brave enough before when Matt had looked ready to ruin you, and you’d been more than happy to sit back and let him, but part of you had wanted to call the shots. Now he was stepping back to let you take the reins. And the way he gripped your hips, slowly guiding you back-and-forth so you could feel the evidence of just how badly he wanted you pressing up against your bare core, it was driving you mad.
The same confidence you’d had that afternoon, when you’d had Matt melting like butter in your hands, returned with a vengeance. Grinning, you grabbed the tie.
“Give me your hands, Matthew.”
He loved it when you said his name like that, and he did exactly as he was told.
“Good boy,” you whispered as you wrapped the strip of fabric around his wrists, securing it with a knot tight enough that he shouldn’t be able to get out of it easily. Without needing to be asked, Matt lifted his hands above his head and kept them there.
Leaning down, you captured his lips in a searing kiss that set your thundering, and from the way Matt smirked against your lips, he could hear it loud and clear. Pulling back to catch your breath, you began your descent, leaving a smattering of hickeys from his jaw to his chest, making sure to kiss each scar you came across, then shuffled back, continuing down his torso until you got to the trail of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.
Matt’s chest was heaving and you’d barely touched him, so when you undid his belt and tugged his pants down his legs, he knew he was done for. And when you palmed him through his boxers before taking those off, too? His heart damn-near stopped beating. No matter how many times he’d take you to bed, he never got over the adrenaline rush, the overwhelming surge of lust that overtook him, consumed him.
Spitting into your palm, and then letting a bead drip from between your lips onto the head of Matt’s cock, you pumped him a few times before taking him into your mouth. Matt moaned loudly, head pressed back into the pillows, and his back arched at the warmth of your mouth, the way your throat constricted around his cock as you swallowed.
“Fucking hell.” He wanted nothing more than to cup the back of your neck and guide your movements, but he kept his hands above your head because he knew if he moved them that you’d stop. The muscles in his thighs twitched beneath your hands and you squeezed them, digging your nails into the corded flesh. If you had to pick a favourite body part of Matt’s, you would choose his thighs in a heartbeat. They were just so thick and warm and, God, you’d lost count of how many times you’d gotten yourself off on them, Matt spurring you on with filthy words, because he’d had work to do and couldn’t give you his full attention. And you especially loved that he always wore tight pants specifically tailored to his exact measurements.
When his cock was well and truly wet, and Matt was a hopeless, panting mess, you moved back up his body and straddled him. Dragging your core up his length, letting out a shattered breath as your clit brushed against the rounded tip, you braced your hands against his scarred chest. Then you reached down and lined up Matt’s cock at your entrance and sunk down onto him. A bolt of pleasure raced up your spine when he was fully sheathed inside you, and the stretch that you’d never get used to had your thighs clenching around his hips.
A strawberry-red flush dusted across Matt’s chest and crept up his neck, throat bobbing as he tried not to cum right then and there.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he panted, veins in his neck tensing. “So fucking good, oh God.”
When you started rocking your hips, the sounds that came out of his mouth brought a devilish grin to your face. He was a whimpering mess, and it was so pathetic the way he squirmed, trying so hard to leave his hands up, but it was so… hot.
In the glow of the neon lights from the billboards outside, he looked purely heavenly.
Meanwhile, Matt was losing his fucking mind. Your pussy was so tight around him and he just wanted to touch you, grab your waist, your ass, and pound into you. But he was trying so hard to be good and he loved the way you had taken control. But Jesus Christ, he hadn’t realised how badly he needed to touch you, to hold you during sex, until you’d taken that privilege away. A broken whimper slipped past his lips.
“Oh, Matty, what’s wrong?” you crooned, enunciating your words with a roll of your hips that pushed his cock deeper, making you see stars. Leaning down until your chest was pressed flat against Matt’s, you nipped at his earlobe. “Is it too much for you, poor baby…”
Matt pressed his head back into the mattress, breathing hard through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut. His hands were still held obediently above his head, but his wrists strained against the fabric of his tie. A bead of sweat slipped down his neck and, in the heat of the moment, you licked it away, dragging your tongue up the hollow of Matt’s throat.
“Not enough─ oh God─ please, sweetheart, I need more.” Matt squirmed, bucking his hips to try and get more friction, chasing a high you’d yet to allow him to have. Cruelly, you evaded his movements, lifting off him slightly every time he tried to thrust up into you.
“Nuh-uh,” you tutted, gripping his chin, turning his head to the side so you could place another hickey to the underside of his jaw, digging your teeth in a little just to make him wince. “But I might reconsider if you beg for it again.”
Matt wasn’t even going to try and resist, he didn’t want to play that damn cat-and-mouse game. So he begged. And begged.
“Please, sweetheart. Fuck, I just need to touch you. Let me touch you, please.”
And though you told yourself you weren’t going to cave, that you were going to toy with him a little longer, just for the fun of it, you crumbled before he’d even said a word. You practically ripped the tie off his hands, tossing it in a ball into the corner to be found tomorrow.
Matt didn’t waste a second, his hands instantly on your ass, guiding each gyration of your hips, doubling the already steady pace you’d set. Then they moved to the straps of the garter belt, snapping the elastic against your skin, and you moaned a little at the zing of pain. He panted and moaned, chasing his pleasure, using one hand to rub your clit to make sure you found your own. And when he sat up, one hand on your back, pressing you closer, and the other at your waist, he thrust into you, deeper and deeper. The bed creaked with each movement, but you were too busy clinging to Matt, face pressed into his neck as you fervently rocked your hips to meet each of his thrusts, to even notice.
Shattered moans and whines dripped from your lips like flower petals, and it was all Matt could hear; he’d zoned everything else out until all his senses were filled up with you, you, you. He didn’t care about anything else.
“Matty, I’m so close, fuck, I’m so close,” your voice was a breathless rasp.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“Keep going. Just like that. Oh God.”
“Fuck, Angel.”
“Just like that, Matty, just like that.”
Everything came to an intense point as Matt groaned into your neck, spilling inside you, and that sensation on top of everything else pushed you straight over the edge. You cried out his name, voice breaking, and your thighs clenched so hard around his waist that you were sure it must have hurt. And then, just for a moment, you blacked out.
You hadn’t realised your body was spasming, limbs trembling, until you came to and heard Matt whispering to you, stroking your back as he held you close.
Later that night, well, early the next morning, after you’d spent a good half-hour in the shower together, exchanging sleepy kisses under the hot water, you were wrapped in the sheets with Matt. Neither of you had bothered with clothes, and a seed of a thought was already planted in your mind of just how you’d wake Matt up. But for now, you struggled to keep your eyes open.
You were tracing idle circles on Matt’s sternum, your head resting on his shoulder, when he said something you weren’t expecting at all.
“I love the way you fuck me.”
You almost choked on your own tongue, tilting your head to look up at him.
“Matthew Michael Murdock, such naughty words from that pretty mouth of yours.” You leaned up to press a kiss to that pretty mouth, tasting the faint mint of toothpaste on his tongue.
“I’m serious, sweetheart.”
“And what is it about the way I fuck you that you love so much, huh?”
“All of it, obviously, but you always know just what to say and do, and all your little surprises, and the sounds you make. It drives me crazy. I can never stop thinking about you.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Well, good.”
Silence fell once more, only to be broken a few minutes later when you thought Matt had fallen asleep.
“Is it bad that I want to be inside you again already?”
You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped your throat. “Do not make me kick you out of this bed, Matthew. I need to sleep.”
“Fine,” he huffed, rolling onto his side to snuggle you closer. “But I’m not going to work tomorrow. I’m staying here, in this bed, with you.”
“You have to go to work, you’ve got that big case, remember?”
“But─”
“If you go, I’ll be sure to visit you on your lunch break and send Karen and Foggy on a food run at that Chinese place a few blocks away so they’ll be gone for a while…”
“Fine, I’ll go.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “But only if you promise to wear that garter belt again.”
a/n: i am not proud of this in the way that i will not be claiming it when i am judged by god.
warnings: SMUT like real sex!!! dom!matt, p in v smut, matt has a thing for talking in bed, MATT BEING A TEASE!!! many nicknames, pining, praise with slight degradation, fluff here and there, tipsy reader and matt, i'm sure i'm missing one or two
word count: 3.3k
summary: ten months of yearning wears you and matt down to desperation.
pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader
now playing: dress - taylor swift
"say my name and everything just stops/i dont want you like a best friend/only bought this dress so you could take it off."
Foggy is so mad at him.
You’re a good employee, a great employee even! You’re dedicated to your job, and you bake in your free time, so you bring in all sorts of treats—Homemade bagels, donuts, cookies—His favorite are your cinnamon chai sugar cookies you make.
You’re intelligent, well-spoken, and good at explaining the issues that you run into. And you’re funny, Foggy would argue, you have incredible timing and wit. You always buy a round at Josies. You are an amazing employee and friend, and Foggy adores you.
So why, pray tell, must Matt feel the need to have you?
He won’t say it out loud, not to Karen, not to Maggie, not to Foggy, and certainly not you. But he’s entranced by you. He loves the sound of your voice as you explain things, he loves that your heart always skips a beat whenever you’re about to deliver a one liner that will crack everyone else up, he loves that when you bake, you always make things all naturally out of desire to make the best dessert you possibly can. But most of all?
He loves that your heart rate picks up whenever he enters the room.
You, on the other hand, are pretty much fascinated by Matt Murdock. You love the sound of his laughter, you love his hands, you love his charm, you love that you can see a chain around his neck when the day dwindles and he loosens his tie, and Jesus H Christ, you love that baritone.
So, it’s safe to say you’ve both been smitten since the first day you met each other.
Yet, you spend ten months cruelly dancing around your attraction for each other.
He’s hesitant to want you in any context, he’s your boss, he’s fucking Daredevil!
By then you know—Mostly accidentally on purpose. All his usual people are out of town or busy, so when he gets stabbed, he has nowhere else to go. He winds up climbing into your window, scaring the ever-living shit out of you. It’s not how he wanted to tell you about his alter ego, but he knows he can trust you.
And you hate the site of blood and gore, so you struggle to patch him up that night. And it makes your heart ache, all the ways he hurts from his nighttime hobby. And he decides right then and there that he can’t have you, not now. Not knowing how much you would—and really, will—worry about him.
So, he buries his want in other people that have no real meaning to him. He even goes on a second date with some of them. One of them even comes to visit him in the office to have lunch.
It makes you jealous to the point where you need to take a walk to dwindle your desire to go back into the office and beg on your hands and knees for her to leave so you can have him. What happens instead is that you go get a pumpkin chai latte and take it back to the office, sitting and keeping to yourself, even when the girl comes out of his office giggling as he stands in the doorway as she leaves.
He smells the pumpkin from his office, and it drives him wild. Just from how quietly you dwell in your jealousy, as you mask it with your favorite fall flavors.
He breaks up with the girl the next day.
• • •
And a week later, he gets his official invitation to Marci and Foggy’s wedding—A big to do, full of family, friends and coworkers that make it a real party. Matt will be Foggy’s best man. You and Karen aren’t in the wedding party, as you were good friends with both the bride and groom, but Karen wanted to make sure at least one of them was focused on the firm, and you hated to be the center of attention. So, you shared your love from a few aisles back.
You had gone shopping with Marci for your dress, Karen too. You enjoyed spending time with them—While you had made friends with them easily, prior friends had never really come easy to you.
It was nice to be wanted.
But they had insisted on you trying to find different dresses that made you look amazing. And for the most part, the dresses made you sort of uncomfortable. They revealed too much or revealed too little.
And then you came across this red satin dress. It hugs your curves in all the right way, and it makes you look good. It makes you feel good. You have these perfect black heels to wear with them, and then Karen says it.
“You know, Matt kind of has a thing about textures. He loves silk and satin.” Your face burns. Of course, he does. Why wouldn’t he? He can hear people's heartbeats, tell when they’re lying, why wouldn’t he be keen on nice textures?
“Karen Page, are you insisting I should by this dress to impress a man?” You laugh just to escape your nerves.
“No! But it can’t hurt! It’s not like he’s bringing a date—” She turns to Marci. “He’s not bringing a date, right?” she asks quickly. It makes her laugh.
“No, Murdock RVSP’ed for one.” You look at yourself in the mirror again, thinking it over. And over. And over. Then you turn to your friends again, and nod.
“Alright. Alright, I’ll get it.” You grin, “And y’know.. Karen’s right, It can’t make the situation any worse.”
“You know what you need now? Good lingerie for after—” Your face is red again at your friend’s comment.
“Shut up, Marci!” You whine, heading back to the dressing room to get changed.
• • •
Matt is sitting with Foggy and his brothers, enjoying a glass of scotch before the ceremony when someone knocks on the door.
And somehow, he’s not shocked to hear your nervous heartbeat when the door opens.
“Hey Fog, Karen said you had scissors—Can I borrow ‘em quick? There’s a tag on this dress I forgot to take off and it’s impossible to reach—”
“Yes, Absolutely, and you know who would be great at helping you? Matt. An incredible knack for… Cutting things.” It’s a poor attempt to get the two of you alone, yet Foggy hands you the scissors and pushes you and Matt outside the room.
“My rooms only two doors down.” He explains, taking your hand in his and leading you there.
After finding out about his super senses, it became clear that he was more than capable of finding his way through places he’s stayed, and that he’s privy to a lot more information than people would give him credit for.
So here you are. In Matt Murdock’s hotel room. A tag itching at your back, with you unable to grab it.
“I’m just gonna—” He awkwardly reaches to the top of your dress, and you just move the hair from your neck and try to ease his anxiety.
“Just go for it, Matt. I don’t care, it’s just annoying.” You promise. And he does.
He folds the top of your dress the best he can and its only enough for the scissors to almost grab the tag without him sticking his hand down your dress. He hesitates for a second before exhaling deeply.
Then, he leans down towards your back, and scrunches the material enough so that he can reach the tag and bites the tag off.
You can feel his other hand on your hip. His hot breath on your back. He hears your heart jump as your breath becomes shaky. He wonders how bad it would be for him to skip the wedding and take you right here, in this room.
He plucks the tag from his teeth and smooths out your dress, as you let go of your hair. He feels this raw need for you.
And you feel it too. Yet he pulls away, taking a step back from you.
“We should get to the ceremony.” he said, trying to catch his breath. He yearns for you, in a way that anyone else would laugh at. It’s the type of yearning you read about in Jane Austen novels. That is the level that Matt longs to touch you. It’s desperation.
“Yeah...” You say softly, trying to recover from what just happened. You drop him back off at Foggy’s suite and head back to the hall, hoping to find Karen and put the moment behind you. And that’s just what happens. You watch the ceremony, and it’s gorgeous. You’re thrilled for Marci and Foggy, and it elates you that they put together such a beautiful ceremony.
And yet, you can’t take your eyes off Matt and how good he looks. He stands tall, and he really does look good. It makes it kind of hard to focus. It makes it really hard to focus. And you think about this all the way through their first dance song, through dinner, through cake and through all the cheesy wedding traditions Foggy insisted on.
You have a few drinks but eventually it all becomes too much, and you take a minute outside of the hall and into the cold air. And you’re thinking about Matt.
“You’re gonna catch a cold out here.”
Speak of the devil.
You turn back to him and smile.
“I’ve been thinking about you.” You say, and he hums. It’s the alcohol in both of your systems, it’s why neither of you run when you say it.
“Same goes for you, sweetheart.” He takes off his coat and wraps it around your shoulders. You note the silky texture of the inside of the jacket. It pushes you further.
“Why do we insist on playing this game? Why do we watch each other go after people who we don’t want when all we want is each other?”
He takes a moment to answer. Because in truth, he’s sure he could tell you why, he could discuss all of the horrible things that have happened to him, and you could share the same sort of stories about your own life. You could sit there and dissect past traumas for hours.
But that’s not really what you’re asking.
“I don’t know...” He says softly. His hands find themselves on your hips, and he rubs small circles into the fabric. “Satin?” You hum, melting at his touch. “Words, pretty girl. You know I like hearing your voice.”
“Satin.” You confirm, your breath catching.
“There she is...” He hums, and leans in. You feel his breath against your lip, and you take it upon yourself to close the gap between the two of you.
It’s soft, full of this hesitation because despite all the flirting, you’re still unsure of yourself. He quickly eases these fears as his hands move and you find his arms wrapped around your torso. He deepens the kiss, and you both lean into it. It becomes more desperate after that.
Your hands find their way to his hair, and you fiddle with the ends, unwilling to break the kiss, even if it means air. He breaks the kiss for a second, only to come back to your lips with more passion, biting your bottom lip, before slipping his tongue into your mouth, taking the more aggressive approach.
And you can’t take it anymore. You need him. You pull away from him, pant softly before kissing his jaw gently.
“Take me to your room.” You request. He obliges.
You find yourself taking off your heels as soon as you get in, your feet aching as you walk further into the room. The context is much different than it was this afternoon—And it makes you nervous.
Matt comes up from behind you and places his hands on your arms, rubbing them gently, before kissing your shoulder.
“You don’t have to be nervous. I’ll be gentle with you...” He says softly. You hum before he continues, “Or do you... want me to be rough with you?” he asks teasingly, landing a quick bite onto your shoulder. You make a noise of surprise and turn to him.
“You’re a tease, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Once or twice.” He begins to loosen his tie, eventually forcing it off and then starting to unbutton his shirt. You begin to help him with this task, eventually getting it all the way unbuttoned. Then you gently push him back against the bed and he laughs, falling onto it.
He thinks it’s cute. Until you sit above him, your dress hiking a bit. You lean down to kiss him as his hands find their way to the back of your thighs, and begin to move up and down, just being the tease, he is.
You whine into the kiss, and it just makes him chuckle further, before flipping the pair of you over, then planting a kiss on your neck.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Needy from just a few kisses?” He slips off his shirt as he continues to kiss you. One hand remains on your thigh, travelling up your thigh, eventually finding your panties.
“Mhm...” You hum, your hands wrapping around his neck again to play with his hair.
“Talk to me, sweet girl...” he says softly before he continues his assault on your neck.
“Matt…” You hum. “You know, I only—” Then his fingers find your clit and begin rubbing gentle circles, just teasing you with his fingers. It turns him from tease to cruel. You let out a moan, and he only tuts in disappointment.
“Keep talking or you won’t get anything from me.” He tells you, before continuing to tease you. His fingers begin to work on your folds. You try your best to focus. He takes off your panties and throws them on the ground somewhere.
“Only bought this dress for you... Thought you might like it...” You gasp again as he slips a finger into you, “Fuck—Thought it would make you do something about it.” In fairness, it got the reaction you had only hoped for in your wildest dreams. It makes him chuckle against your skin.
“Only got this pretty little dress for me to touch you like this?” He adds another finger and starts to move. When you don’t answer, too busy getting lost in his fingers, he bites your shoulder again. “Answer me, sweetheart.”
“Yes! God, yes…” You respond. He hums in approval, continuing to curl his fingers inside of you. It only takes a few minutes before you can feel yourself near the edge of an orgasm. “Matt… Baby, please...”
“C’mon, sweet girl... I’ve got you, let go...” And it’s enough to make you, cumming all over his fingers. He lets you ride out your high, out of breath. He kisses your neck again before bringing his fingers up to his lips, tasting your juices. “Sweet girl, still.” He smirks. Your heart skips a beat. He chuckles. Then he continues, “Did so good for me, sweetheart... Wanna keep going?” He asks.
“Yes, please... Wanna feel you inside me...” you confess.
“You want me to fill you up and stretch you out, pretty girl?” You should know better by now, but you just hum in response, gaining another bite to your shoulder. “Try again.”
“Yes... I want you so badly, Matt, please... I’ve been dreaming about it for months now,” You confess, “Need you...” He seems satisfied by this, and moves back, helping you sit up.
“Well then, we’ll need to get this pretty dress off you.” He says, his fingers working to take off his belt. Your fingers run over his chest. It’s all he can do not to rip the dress off, but he knows how much it means to you and how much it could’ve cost. So, instead, he slips the dress off you and feels you shiver against him. Still so nervous. He tosses the dress in the general direction of his suitcase, so it doesn’t sit on the floor. He leans in and starts pressing kisses to your chest, his hands reaching up to your bra and unclasping it. He throws it with much less care than the dress.
He keeps kissing down your torso as he lays you back on the bed, your hands going again to his hair.
“How come it’s fair that I’m fully naked, and you still have pants on?” You ask. It makes him laugh, and he stands straight again.
“Fair enough,” he says, taking them off. And then goes his boxers. Before you can stare at him, he’s on top of you again, kissing you deeply. You can feel his cock resting against your fold and it makes you moan into the kiss. He pulls away for just a second before asking, “Is this, okay? You’ll stop me if it’s too much?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you.” You respond. He smiles at your words.
“Perfect. Perfect, pretty girl...” He hums as he begins to kiss your shoulders and the top of your chest, before slipping inside of you. You let out a moan, and he groans as well, taking a few minutes to take all of you in. It feels amazing. He begins to move inside of you as he brings you in for another kiss. When he pulls away, he’s talking, “Been thinking about this for... Fuck, so long...” He groans. “Been dreaming of this perfect pussy and how good it would feel around me…” He says, and it elicits a shaky moan from you.
“Faster, please...” You request, and he obliges, picking up the pace. You’ve been thinking about this for a long time too. You never imagined he’d be so controlling about the whole thing. It works you up almost as much as how vocal he is.
He leaves bites and marks down your chest as he pulls you closer to him, knowing he won’t last much longer. He feels you tighten around him and makes another demand, “Tell me how badly you want to cum, and I’ll let you.” He says this before planting a rather contrasting soft kiss to your ear.
“Please... Please, Matt, Fuck... I need to cum all over your cock... Wanna feel so good, baby...” You moan, your fingers pulling on his hair. It excites you when he moans. “And I want you to cum inside me... Fill me up, Baby, please...” You beg. He’s happy with it for now, but he knows he’ll want to hear more another time.
“C’mon, sweet girl. Cum for me…” He pants, and it’s all you need before you let yourself come undone around his cock. He continues thrusting for a few minutes, letting you ride out your high, before cumming himself, and you moan at the feeling. He lays against you for a few minutes, trying to recover, and it’s then that you notice he’s shaking.
“Are you okay?” You ask softly, brushing his hair out of his face. He looks at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. He laughs at your question.
“I’m great... You’re just... amazing...” he says honestly, kissing your shoulder one more time. “Perfect, pretty girl...” He praises. “My perfect girl...” It makes you shudder. He stays like this for a moment more before kissing you softly. Then, he sits up and goes to get a towel to clean the both of you up. And then, he’s back in bed with you. He pulls you close as you both recover from what just happened.
“I wasn’t lying,” You start, “I’ve been thinking about you for months. You’re all I’ve wanted for so long...” You confess. He kisses your head and pulls you closer.
“Me too... I was too much of an idiot to tell you though. Almost let you get away.”
“You got me.” You affirm. He hums and begins to rub all too familiar circles into your hips with his thumbs.
